Warriors Don't Cry
by catastropherika
Summary: Camille became the Great Selwyn Disappointment the moment the Sorting Hat sorted her into the house of her family's nightmares. Will she choose her newfound Gryffindor family, or will she succumb to the influence and pressure that comes with her heritage?
1. Chapter 1

"Mother! I've got my Hogwarts letter!" I exclaimed, picking it up from the polished dining table.

"Of course you did, dearie," she murmured, completely engrossed in her book. She looked up only once to briefly order Zikky, our kitchen elf, to bring breakfast to the table. I pursed my lips, disappointed at her reaction, or lack of one.

"When can we get my things?" I persisted, bouncing lightly on my chair. My mother finally looked up at me after a moment and a sigh.

"We can get them later, after you finish your food," she pointed at my full plate. A wide grin spread across my face as I tackled my breakfast hungrily.

...

"Do you think I'll be sorted into Slytherin?" I questioned curiously, wrinkling my nose as I stepped over a puddle of sewer water.

"All Selwyns are Slytherins, darling," my father replied, placing a heavy hand on my shoulder. I looked up at him. He made an imposing figure with his black robes and tall stature.

"Okay, then…" I felt nervous. Firstly, because I could see plenty of kids my age, and older, who were probably Hogwarts students shopping for supplies too. I wondered which ones I was soon going to call my friends. Secondly, although I really didn't think I would make a good Slytherin, I couldn't even bear to imagine what my parents would do if I didn't got sorted into the house of their pride, or worse still, _Gryffindor_. I shivered slightly, pushing the thought away.

Just then, a small Siamese kitten caught my eye through a shop window.

"Oh!" I crossed the road quickly and knelt in front of the cage.

"Can I have him?" I turned to beg my parents. Father's lips twitched, as if trying to contain a smile.

"Are you sure you don't want your own owl?" Mother asked doubtfully. I shrugged.

"I could always use the owls at Hogwarts if I want to send something."

"Let her get it," Father gave me a small smile, before handing me some money.

"Yess!" I squealed before grabbing the cage and hurrying inside the shop to pay.

'Ollivanders', peeling gold letters in front of the shop read. My eyes widened in wonder as we entered. The walls were covered with rickety shelves from floor to ceiling, and the shelves were stuffed with...were those shoe boxes? No, too small. My heart rate quickened as I caught a glance at a half-open box on the floor. Wands! Of course! I tapped my fingers against the bars of my new pet's cage in excitement, then withdrew them hastily as he made to nip at me.

I startled up as a dishevelled old man with misty eyes and unkempt white hair I hadn't noticed appeared in front of us.

"Ah, Edward and Adelaide Selwyn. I remember the exact day you both entered my shop and bought your first wands. Blackthorn wood, ten inches, wasn't it?" he peered at Father, who replied a rather stiff "Yes, sir."

"And...who is this young lady?" he turned his silvery gaze down down at me. I shrank back, slightly uncomfortable. Mother prodded my back with her umbrella. I drew myself up, trying to appear more confident than I felt.

"Camille Selwyn, sir. I'm here to choose a wand." Mr. Ollivander chuckled softly.

"No, no, young Selwyn. Always remember this: it is the _wand_ that chooses the wizard. Now," he drew back suddenly, "which is your wand arm?" I held my right arm out quickly, and the tape measure in his hands leapt up and began measuring me all over as Mr. Ollivander inspected several different boxes, muttering to himself. I didn't dare to move a muscle until it dropped to the floor at a flick of his hand.

"Try this one, Ms. Selwyn. Chestnut and dragon heartstring. 11 inches, quite bendy." I took it, but he snatched it out of my hand before I even waved it, handing me another one. I tried several different ones, but apparently none of them were quite right.

A bell tinkled gently from the front of the shop. I turned to see Draco Malfoy coming in with his father.

"Lucius," Father greeted.

"Edward. Adelaide," Lucius Malfoy nodded. "Funny, Narcissa and I were just mentioning..." Their voices faded out of earshot as they crossed over to the other side of the shop, leaving me with Draco and Mr. Ollivander, who was currently shuffling around behind the shelves. Draco's eyes flicked towards me.

"Hi, Draco," I smiled brightly.

"Hello, Camille," he answered, shifting closer. "Why didn't you come over this summer?" I frowned.

"What happened this summer?"

"Midsummer's party. Father invited your family, I know. I checked the guest list." I grinned, raising an eyebrow.

"You checked the guest list to look for us?" Draco flushed.

"No! I was...I just wanted to know who was coming," he scowled. My grin only widened.

"Whatever you say. We went to visit Mum's family in France, probably why we couldn't make it." Draco nodded in understanding.

"In any case," he grumbled, "I was stuck with Pansy without you there. She's so clingy, it's bloody annoying."

"She likes you," I prodded his arm, giggling in amusement. Draco glared at me, opening his mouth to argue, but was interrupted by Mr. Ollivander.

"Ah, Alder wood and dragon heartstring, 12 and ½ inches. Slightly springy. How does it feel?" Mr. Ollivander emerged from behind a particularly slanted shelf, handing me another wand. My arm jerked up a little in surprise as it warmed in my hands. I flicked it cautiously, and bright blue sparks shot out and hit a pile of boxes across from her.

"Yes, very good. Definitely this one," he said, taking the wand back and wrapping it back into its box.

"See you in school," Draco murmured as we left. I flashed him a wink and a grin as I walked out the door.

The rest of the day flashed by quickly, I paid hardly any attention to my new robes and my shiny textbooks. I couldn't stop looking at my kitten, cooing and stroking him through the bars of the cage.

"I'll name you Iggy," I announced as we reached the Selwyn Manor, laughing delightedly as he nuzzled my face, purring softly.

* * *

 **hi, friends. if you've read this far, thanks so much and i love you:) i'm quite excited about this story, so i hope you'll stay with me. the first few chapters will be uploaded pretty quickly because the story _really_ starts from the Goblet of Fire. **

**it'll be rad if you'd give me a favorite, and maybe (pretty please?) a follow.**

 **catastropherika xo**


	2. Chapter 2

It was finally _the day_ , and my stomach kept turning uncomfortably as I shovelled my breakfast down. My hands were trembling as I pushed Iggy into his cage, meowing in protest.

"Sorry, Iggs. I don't think I can let you out until we reach Hogwarts," I said sympathetically, scratching his neck with a finger.

My nerves only got worse after Father apparated us, and my things, to the train station.

"I think I'm going to be sick," I grumbled. Iggy growled in agreement, at least, I supposed that was what the squeaky sound that came from him was supposed to be.

"Camille," Father cleared his throat authoritatively.

I straightened my back and met his gaze questioningly.

"Remember, you're a Selwyn. A pureblood. You will bring pride to our name, do you hear?"

"Yes, Father," I nodded.

"Good," he smiled at me. "Move along, now."

Steadying Iggy's cage carefully in front of me, I heaved my trolley forward towards platform 9. My face scrunched up in confusion as I approached.

"Where's platform 9 and ¾?" I turned to my mother, standing next to me. A rare smile spread across her lips.

"See that wall?" She bent down to whisper in my ear. I nodded at the wall she was pointing to. "All you have to do is...run through it." I drew back doubtfully.

"Are you sure?" My parents exchanged an amused glance before my mother set a gentle hand on my arm.

"Come, I'll show you." I watched skeptically as my mother walked head towards the very solid-looking wall and... _vanished_. I shook my head, then squinted at the spot she had been.

"Mother?" Father chuckled, pushing me gently closer.

"Your turn, now. It's better to run if you're nervous." I squeezed my eyes shut tightly, and pushed forward. I didn't crash.

My eyes fluttered open nervously, before widening in amazement.

A bright-red steam engine was waiting on the tracks next to a crowded platform, a different platform from the one I was on just barely a few seconds ago.

"Go on, Camille," Father said gently. I jumped a bit, having not noticed my parents' sudden appearance beside me.

"Okay," I inhaled deeply. "I can do this." Turning around to wave and send a last smile to my parents, I made my way towards the train.

The first few carriages were already filled with students. Heart beating frantically in my chest, I searched for an empty carriage, or at least, someone I knew. My eyebrows rose as I spotted a boy my age, with unruly dark hair and a...scar on his forehead sitting alone in a carriage. _Harry Potter_ , I mused. I've heard my parents talk about him a lot. The boy who lived. For a short moment, I struggled internally between going in to see what he was like and looking for my friends. My overwhelming curiosity won out in the end. I took a deep breath and straightened.

"Hello," I peered through the door of the compartment. "Can I sit here?" He startled up a bit, before shaking his head.

"Okay," I grinned. "Mind giving me a hand with these, then?" I asked sheepishly, gesturing towards my trunk. "I don't think I can manage on my own."

"Sure," he jumped up from his seat. I took Iggy's cage carefully off the top and placed it on a seat, before taking one end of the trunk.

"On three," he said. "One...two...three!" We heaved my trunk off the trolley and into the carriage. After much struggling, we managed to get it under the seat at last.

"Thanks," I panted, blowing my curls out of my face. "Camille Selwyn, nice to meet you." He shook my outstretched hand almost hesitatingly.

"Harry Potter."

"I know who you are. You're rather famous in the wizarding world, see," I replied with a grin.

The door of the compartment slid open, and a ginger-haired boy came in.

"Anyone sitting there?" he pointed to the seat across from me. "Everywhere else is full."

We shook our heads and the boy sat down. He glanced at Harry and then looked quickly out of the window, pretending he hadn't looked. I stifled a chuckle. Evidently, I wasn't the only one aware of Harry Potter's presence. _Same, ginger. Same_ , I thought amusedly.

"Hey, Ron." The compartment door slid open yet again, and two older identical boys with ginger hair peeked in. _So the ginger's name is Ron, and these are his brothers._ My brain took a few seconds to link everything together, but by the time I was done, I was shifting uncomfortably in my seat. They were the Weasleys. Purebloods who were very much muggle-tolerant. _Blood traitors_ , my parents called them. Because of that, the other pureblood families weren't terribly fond of them, and likewise.

"Listen, we're going down to the middle of the train—Lee Jordan's got a giant tarantula down there."

"Right," Ron mumbled.

"Harry," said the other twin, "did we introduce ourselves? Fred and George Weasley." _Weasley! I was right, then._ "This is Ron, our brother. And," he squinted at me, "who are you?"

"Camille. Camille Selwyn," I replied reluctantly.

"Selwyn, you say?" The twins exchanged a glance, before turning back to me in interest. "We would've thought you'd be with your friends in the carriages all the way at the back." I was annoyed. They were judging me because of my name. None of your business, I wanted to snap, if not for the fact that I could feel they were trying to test me, see how much of an entitled pureblood heir I was. And I didn't want to prove their suspicions right.

"I couldn't find them," I answered truthfully.

"Your family doesn't like ours' very much," Ron began doubtfully. "Won't your parents be mad if they know you...you know, associate with us?" I bit back a sigh. True, my parents hadn't brought me up to tolerate muggles or "blood-traitors". But I had always thought I would like to meet one before deciding for myself how bad they were.

"They couldn't do a thing even if they knew. Anyways," I shrugged, "does it matter?" The twins exchanged another glance at each other, then beamed delightedly at me.

"We like you, Selwyn. See you guys later, then." They left our compartment as quickly as they arrived. Well, then.

"Um," I cleared my throat. "I'll change into my robes first, yeah?" Without waiting for a response, I grabbed my new Hogwarts robes and left the compartment.

It was easy to lose your footing on a fast moving train, I soon realized. Even keeping one hand on the side of pathway didn't help much.

"Hey," I called out to a girl walking towards me with bushy brown hair and rather large front teeth. "Do you know where the loo is?"

"Middle of the train. I can bring you there if you want."

"Sure."

"I'm Hermione Granger," she announced, turning to me. _Ah, a muggle-born._ I stifled the distaste that I had been taught to feel. "What's your name?"

"Camille Selwyn."

Hermione Granger was rather chatty, I decided, after bidding her goodbye and "see you later". I hardly got a word in. But despite that, I found that I liked her. She was obviously very smart, and I respected intelligence.

I perked up as I spotted Draco, together with Crabbe and Goyle (unpleasant boys whom I didn't like much), leaving my compartment in a huff.

"Draco!" I called. "What were you doing there?" He stopped and grabbed my arm as he passed me.

"It's a Weasley," he spat, "and Harry Potter, who's actually a disappointment. You shouldn't sit with them, you can come with us."

"Don't be silly," I laughed, tugging my arm away. "I've got my things in there and besides, we're reaching already. See you, Draco."

Just then a voice echoed through the train: "We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes' time. Please leave your luggage on the train, it will be taken to the school separately."

I hurried to the front, where a crowd of students was gathering. The train slowed down and finally stopped. I joined the rest as everyone jostled their way out onto the dark platform outside. I shivered in the cold night air, tugging my robes closer around me.

"Firs' years! Firs' years over here!" came a loud booming voice and a lantern bobbing over everybody's heads. "All right there, Harry?" I glanced around to look for him and Ron.

I joined their stumble down a rocky, steep path. No one said anything, except for the occasional sniffle from a boy somewhere behind me. Perhaps he was missing his family already, I thought.

"Ye' all get yer firs' sight o' Hogwarts in a sec," Hagrid called over his shoulder, "jus' round this bend here."

There was a unified "Oooooh!"

The narrow path we were on had opened suddenly onto the edge of a great black lake. Perched atop a high mountain on the other side, its windows twinkling brightly, was a huge castle.

"No more'n four to a boat!" Hagrid instructed, pointing to a fleet of small boats sitting in the water by the shore.

"C'mon," Hermione tugged my arm excitedly, dragging me towards a boat Harry and Ron were getting into.

"Everyone in?" shouted Hagrid, who had a boat to himself. "Right then—FORWARD!"

I gasped as the boat lurched forward suddenly, following the others across the lake.

Like everyone else, I gaped up at the castle, towering over us as we sailed nearer and nearer to the cliff on which it stood.

"Heads down!" bellowed Hagrid as our boats reached the cliff. Hermione and I ducked down simultaneously as we went through a thick curtain of ivy that hid an opening in the cliff. I couldn't see a thing in the darkness as we floated through a long tunnel, until we finally reached a sort of underground harbor. I clambered out gratefully onto solid land.

"Oy, you there! Is this your toad?" said Hagrid, who was checking the boats as people climbed out of them.

"Trevor!" cried a chubby boy blissfully, holding out his hands. With some difficulty, we made our way up to a passageway in the rock after Hagrid's lamp, emerging at last onto smooth, damp grass right in the shadow of the castle.

We walked up a flight of stone steps and crowded around the huge oaken door.

"Everyone here? You there, still got yer toad?"

Hagrid raised a gigantic fist and knocked three times on the castle door.

* * *

 **well, that was a fast update. so Camille's finally met the Golden Trio, yay. good lord, i've been writing and editing almost non-stop for a while now. it's insane, i've had like almost no writer's block at all since school started, when assignments are gathering in huge mountains. fantastic.**

 **anyways. i hope you liked this one and...if you could leave a review or a follow (preferably both, obviously), i'll love you forever.**

 **peace out,**

 **catastropherika xo**


	3. Chapter 3

The door swung open almost at once, to reveal a tall, stern-looking woman in dark-green robes.

"The firs' years, Professor McGonagall," said Hagrid.

"Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here."

Before I knew it, I was walking through a pair of double doors in the castle to the most wonderful place I had ever seen—Hogwart's famous Great Hall.

Thousands of candles floated midair over four long tables, where the rest of the students sat. The tables were laid with empty shiny golden plates and goblets. There was another long table at the front of the hall for the Professors.

"It's bewitched to look like the sky outside," Hermione murmured next to me. My head shot up immediately. The ceiling was black, dotted with twinkling stars.

"Woah," I whispered. Harry nudged me, and I looked back down to see Professor McGonagall placing a stool in front of us, before placing an old, frayed pointy hat on it. For a few seconds, there was complete silence. Then the hat twitched. A rip near the brim opened wide like a mouth — and the hat began to sing:

"Oh, you may not think I'm pretty,

But don't judge on what you see,

I'll eat myself if you can find

A smarter hat than me.

You can keep your bowlers black,

Your top hats sleek and tall,

For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat

And I can cap them all.

There's nothing hidden in your head

The Sorting Hat can't see,

So try me on and I will tell you

Where you ought to be.

You might belong in Gryffindor,

Where dwell the brave at heart,

Their daring, nerve, and chivalry

Set Gryffindors apart;

You might belong in Hufflepuff,

Where they are just and loyal,

Those patient Hufflepuffs are true

And unafraid of toil;

Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,

if you've a ready mind,

Where those of wit and learning,

Will always find their kind;

Or perhaps in Slytherin

You'll make your real friends,

Those cunning folk use any means

To achieve their ends.

So put me on! Don't be afraid!

And don't get in a flap!

You're in safe hands (though I have none)

For I'm a Thinking Cap!"

I released a delighted giggle, clapping my hands wildly along with the rest. My parents had told me all about Hogwarts, but it was far more beautiful and interesting than I had imagined.

Professor McGonagall now stepped forward holding a long roll of parchment.

When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted," she said. "Abbott, Hannah!"

A pink-faced girl with blonde pigtails stumbled out of line, put on the hat, which fell right down over her eyes, and sat down. A moments pause—"HUFFLEPUFF!"

I inhaled deeply. This wasn't too bad, I supposed. All I had to do was place the hat on my head, and it would sort me into my house. My heart quickened. Suppose I didn't get into Slytherin like my parents wanted? Gryffindor didn't seem like such a bad house, I thought, watching people from their table joking around and erupting in raucous laughter. They looked like a fun bunch. Meanwhile, the Slytherin table was more quiet, looking around with haughty expressions. I shivered. They didn't look like particularly friendly people.

"Selwyn, Camille!"

I jerked abruptly from my thoughts and focused back on Professor McGonagall and the hat she held in her hands.

Lifting my head high, I made my way to the stool and sat down. The hat was large, and I found my eyes covered by its dark fabric.

"Well, well. A Selwyn, are you?" a small voice said in my ear. "Well-known Slytherins. But of course, there's the occasional oddball every once in a while." I frowned. Oddball? "An overwhelming wish to prove yourself, but firm determination to stay true. Plenty of cunning, not quite as ambitious, however. Smart girl, for sure, and you've got a touch of compassion too, interesting. I'm thinking...GRYFFINDOR!"

I was frozen to the seat as Professor McGonagall took the hat off my head and pushed me gently to the Gryffindor table, who were roaring loudly in cheer. A million thoughts rushed through my head, but one kept repeating over and over: "Why?"

I sat numbly on the bench, nearly oblivious to the loud chatter around me and Hermione's enthusiastic embrace.

Slowly, my eyes rose to the Slytherin table, where my friends were staring wordlessly at me in shock. Draco, in particular. I met his look with dread. He turned away quickly, as if ashamed. I dropped my gaze to my plate, now filled with food.

Being in Gryffindor did feel right, somehow. But being chosen for this house meant I would probably lose all the friends I had grown up with. And I hated to think of what my parents' reactions would be. Perhaps I would lose them too.

...

Years passed, and though I had grown further from my family and my old friends, I had found a new family in Gryffindor. None of them cared that I was from a family with a Muggle-hating reputation, despite their initial, but brief, skepticism of me. They were my family now, and I couldn't have wished for a better one.

My parents didn't exactly kick me out, though their attitude toward me had changed completely. Gone were the loving, though stern, parents I knew, replaced by two detached, and sometimes even cold, people. I missed them. My old friends, having all been sorted to Slytherin, began closing me out, quite understandably. I missed some of them. Others, not so much.

I had Harry, Ron, and Hermione now. In year one, we helped Harry defeat Voldemort for the first time. In year two, we figured out the mystery of the Chamber of Secrets together, at the risk of suffering multiple panic attacks at Ginny Weasley's disappearance and Hermione's petrification. In year three, we faced dementors, uncovered Scabbers', Ron's rat, true identity as Peter Pettigrew, had an unexpected werewolf DADA teacher, and discovered that Harry's godfather was an Azkaban escapee. They were three of the most intense years I had ever known, and I wouldn't be surprised if living through them shortened my life by quite a bit.

Little did any of us realize that the gates to living hell only started opening in our fourth year at Hogwarts.

* * *

 **there we go. the next chapter's going to be set in TGOF already. _finally_. i know there hasn't been much about Draco so far, but i don't want to rush things, ya feel? i'm planning to write all the way till Deathly Hallows (oh god, that's going to take forever and i'll have to write _so much_ ), but Dramille starts in TGOF so that's something to look forward too, at least.**

 **this probably isn't much to some of you, but _I'VE GOT A FOLLOW AND A FAVORITE ALREADY AND I ONLY POSTED MY STORY YESTERDAY?_ THANKS GUYS I'M REALLY HAPPY.**

 **catastropherika xo**


	4. Chapter 4

"Camille!" I folded the letter I was writing hurriedly and turned to see my mother standing at my bedroom door.

"Yes, mother?" She looked slightly uncomfortable to be there.

"Get packed. We're leaving for the Quidditch World Cup tomorrow." I bolted straight up in my seat, not believing my ears.

"Really? _The_ Quidditch World Cup?" I couldn't help the bubble of excited laughter that rose in my throat. "Bloody hell, Mother, you didn't tell me! I'll just...oh my god, I'll start packing right now." I almost missed the telltale twitch on her lips that told me she was trying not to smile at my reaction. I sighed internally. Despite the general coldness my parents showed me, I could tell they still harbored the hope that I was had been wrongly sorted, and that I was actually a Slytherin at heart.

But the _Quidditch World Cup_. Ron and Hermione had written to tell me they were going, and that they were going to fetch Harry from the Dursley's house the day before. Rather enviously, I wished them much fun. As a Quidditch fanatic and a Seeker on the Gryffindor team, I would've given just about anything for a chance to watch the World Cup. Lo and behold, my mother decided to give me the most pleasant surprise I had this summer. I dashed off a quick note at the bottom of the letter I had been writing to Hermione, before tying it to one of my family's owls. I fed Malachi an owl treat before nudging him gently towards my open window.

 _P.S. You'll never guess what just happened. MY MOTHER SAYS WE'RE GOING TO THE QUIDDITCH WORLD CUP! I'LL SEE YOU GUYS THERE!_

 _Love, Camille._

"Yess," I cackled with glee as I threw some clothes into a suitcase. "I'm going to the World Cup, Iggy!" Picking my cat from my bed, I twirled him around.

"Mrow," he growled in protest, swiping his claws at me.

"Ow," I dropped him back down, clutching my left arm. "You're no fun," I glared reproachfully at him, before inspecting the damage though I knew it wouldn't much. Iggy never tried to hurt me intentionally. Unlike a certain somebody. I scowled at the thought.

Draco Malfoy had been one of my closest friends, until I got sorted into Gryffindor. Since then, it was as if we were never friends. Almost any interaction we had ended in an unpleasant argument.

Pansy Parkinson never liked me anyway, because she always thought Draco and I were too close. See, she fancied him and didn't like the idea of him with any other girl. Which was extremely odd of her, because I was pretty sure we had never fancied each other, and probably never would now. Mental, that girl. Millicent Bulstrode, her best friend, wasn't too bad. We were friends too...until we weren't. She never joined the others when they started making fun of me, though she ignored me whenever I tried talking to her. I guess that was comparatively nice of her. Crabbe and Goyle, I never liked them. They were just plain horrible pigs.

Blaise Zabini was the only old friend I had who didn't have as much of a grudge against me for my sorting as the others. He always told me he thought it might have been a mistake. I never told him I didn't think it was. Not anymore.

I might've been born to be a Slytherin, but I had grown to be a Gryffindor through and through.

...

"There's our tent," Father pointed out a large tent made of silk. "We're right next to the Malfoys." I made a face. Of course we were. There had to be _some_ inevitable downside to this wonderful opportunity. Speaking of the devil, there they came stepping out of their tent towards us.

"Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy," I murmured, as they exchanged greetings with us. They gave me a curt nod in acknowledgement, before walking off with my parents. Leaving me with their son.

"Malfoy," I gritted my teeth.

"Selwyn," he narrowed his stormy grey eyes at me. "I'm surprised your parents can still bear to be seen in public with you."

"I'm surprised Pansy dearest isn't here as your date." He scowled at me. I grinned internally at his disgusted expression.

"Oh, don't look so glum. Keep frowning like that, and you'll ruin your pretty face. What would happen to your horde of Slytherin fangirls then?" Malfoy turned slowly to face me, but not with the glare I expected. He was smirking, the devil.

"So you think I'm pretty?" he asked slowly. Yes, I wanted to say. Because it was true, even I had to admit that puberty had done him _a lot_ of good. But obviously, I didn't.

"Of course that's all you heard. Yes, you're _pretty_ insufferable, you vain git." I rolled my eyes, hiding an uncontrollable grin as I stalked off to my family's tent.

...

The good news was that we got seats in the Top Box, where the Weasleys, Harry, and Hermione were going to be too. Bad news was that the Malfoys were sitting there too, and that Mother was forcing me to wear a formal robe.

I groaned, running my hands through my hair frustratedly, as I glared at the offending black formal robe my mother had laid out on my bed. Sure, it was pretty, with its delicate lace sleeves and all, and I _did_ like it. But this was _Quidditch_ World Cup we were talking about, not...Prom World Cup. It was unfair, everyone else would be dressed casually, while I was stuck with looking like I had just arrived from a formal gala dinner.

Fortunately, the infectious excitement in the air around the enormous stadium couldn't keep me in a glum mood for long. We had to squeeze our way through a throng of noisy wizards and witches to get to the nearest entrance.

"Prime seats!" shouted the Ministry witch at the entrance as she checked our tickets, striving to be heard over the clamor. "Top Box! All the way up!"

The stairs into the stadium were covered in a rich purple carpet. We made our way up at a crawling pace, blocked by other spectators who eventually broke apart left and right to their seats at the lower levels. At last, we reached the top.

My lips broke apart into a grin as I spotted the Weasley family together with Harry and Hermione in the Top Box. I surged forward eagerly, before Father grabbed my arm hard with a firm hand. Ah, of course. He didn't want me to embarrass _him_ by associating with "blood-traitors" in public. I scowled, yanking my arm back.

Ginny was the first to notice me, eyes brightening. My best friends followed suit. Their excited grins dimmed as Father turned his cold glare on them. They gave me a sympathetic glances, making me feel worse about the whole situation. I trailed after my parents reluctantly to our seats.

"...ah, and here's Lucius!" someone said a few seats away. My eyes flicked over to the entrance of the Top Box, where Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, together with Draco, were making their way over to the seats next to us. I felt my heart sink in dread as I watched them approach the Minister of Magic, and eventually, Mr. Weasley. Although I couldn't quite hear what Mr. Malfoy said, it was obviously something unpleasant, as evident from Ron's darkening expression.

I sighed internally as Draco Malfoy seated himself next to me, readying myself for an insult. Surprisingly, he didn't say anything. A delightful surprise.

Just then, Ludo Bagman came charging in, his round face gleaming. "Minister—ready to go?"

"Ready when you are, Ludo," Minister Fudge replied, smiling.

Ludo whipped out his wand, and directing it at his throat, said "Sonorous!".

"Ladies and gentlemen...welcome!" his voice rose over the roar that was filling the packed stadium. I mentally filed away the spell for possible use in the future. "Welcome to the final of the four hundred and twenty-second Quidditch World Cup!"

The roar increased, and thousands of flags waved frantically in the air. The huge blackboard opposite us showed BULGARIA: 0; IRELAND: 1.

"And now, without further ado, allow me to introduce...the Bulgarian National Team Mascots!"

I leant forward interestedly, resting my elbows on my lap as a hundred incredibly gorgeous women with the palest skin and white-gold hair flowing down their backs danced gracefully out onto the field. Veelas! I'd heard of them, read about them, but I'd never _seen_ one. Malfoy shifted forward in his seat next to me.

I frowned as I realized he looked like he was possibly going to jump down. His grey eyes were dazed as he stared mesmerized at the Veelas. Sighing heavily, I tugged at his arm sharply to pull him back down. He turned around to glare at me.

"What?" he hissed. I rolled my eyes.

"I just saved your ungrateful arse from humiliating yourself. You're welcome." Malfoy's pale cheeks flushed pink as he realized what he had been about to do.

"Thanks," he muttered reluctantly.

"And now," roared Ludo Bagman's voice, "kindly put your wands in the air...for the Irish National Team Mascots!"

A bright green-and-gold comet zoomed into the stadium, circling the place, before splitting into two smaller comets. They parted and dived toward the goal posts. Suddenly, a rainbow arced between the two, connecting them. The crowd cheered loudly as the rainbow faded, and the ball of lights emerged again, forming a shimmering shamrock which rose high in the air over the stands showering golden rain. As it soared over us, I realized they were showering gold coins over us. I laughed loudly in abandon, holding my hands out to catch them.

"Leprechauns!" Malfoy chuckled in disbelief, grasping enthusiastically at the deluge of coins himself. Startled, I snuck a discreet look at him. It had been a long time since I had heard his laugh...and I found that I missed it. I shook my head a little to clear my thoughts, before tilting my head up to squint at the tiny bearded men in red vests that made up the shamrock.

The shamrock dissolved, and the leprechauns drifted down onto the field on the opposite side from the veela, and settled themselves down.

"And now, ladies and gentlemen, kindly welcome—the Bulgarian National Quidditch Team! I give you—Dimitrov!"

A figure on a broomstick shot out onto the field in a red blur from an entrance far below, to wild applause from the Bulgarian supporters.

"Ivanova!" A second player zoomed out.

"Zograf! Levski! Vulchanov! Volkov! Aaaaaaand—Krum!"

I grabbed the Omnioculars I had bought earlier from my lap, and peered through it eagerly for a glance at the famed seeker.

He was handsome, in a slightly savage sort of way. He looked much older than the eighteen years he was supposed to be.

"And now, please greet—the Irish National Quidditch Team!" yelled Bagman. "Presenting—Connolly! Ryan! Troy! Mullet! Moran! Quigley! Aaaaaand—Lynch!"

Seven green-clad figures swept onto the field

"And here, all the way from Egypt, our referee, acclaimed Chairwizard of the International Association of Quidditch, Hassan Mostafa!" A short bald man with an enormous mustache that covered almost half his face strode onto the field. Mostafa set down a large crate onto the ground, mounting his broomstick and kicking it open. Four balls burst into the air: the Quaffle, two Bludgers, and the diminutive golden Snitch, which I couldn't see. He blew sharply on a whistle, and shot into the air after them.

The match had begun.

* * *

 **oh, look. there's a little Dramille interaction. there'll be a better one in the next chapter =) i've already written it, but it hasn't been edited. it'll be up soon!**

 **catastropherika xo**


	5. Chapter 5

"Merlin's pants!" I exclaimed dreamily. "That was amazing, wasn't it? Did you see Ivanova's Chelmondiston Charge? I've never managed to do it, but maybe I just needed to actually see it being done! I have to try it." Malfoy chuckled. I had been given a wonderfully pleasant surprise. He was acting so civil that I could almost forget what a beast he was normally. Times like this were rare.

"I did! And Krum's Wronski Feint was exceptional. It's a pity Potter was there to see it being executed so flawlessly," he scoffed lightly. "He might actually be able to pull it off this year, but never mind that. Because so will I."

"He'll pull it off," I replied confidently. "You, on the other hand..." I flashed him a sly grin, "if you put in a lot of practice before school, you _might_ just get your team to meet ours' in the Inter-House Quidditch Cup again. Maybe even give us a bit of a challenge for once."

"Maybe?" Malfoy growled playfully. He stopped unexpectedly and turned to face me. My heartbeat escalated as he stepped close enough for me to have to tilt my head up to look at him. We were barely touching, but I could feel the heat of his body through my coat. "I'd show you exactly how good I've become," he murmured, leaning closer. Then he jerked away abruptly, a cool flow of air rushing in with the absence of his warmth. "But you know we aren't going to have an Inter-House Quidditch Cup this year, don't you?"

I tilted my head in confusion. "What?" An understanding smirk crossed his face slowly.

"Your father didn't tell you, then?"

"Tell me what, Malfoy?" I was getting a tad bit frustrated.

"I suppose you'll have to wait until school begins to find out," he grinned. Without even a goodbye, he swaggered off to his tent. So engrossed I had been in our conversation that I hadn't noticed we had reached our adjacent tents. I gritted my teeth, annoyed.

His entire character seemed to have changed when the match started, and I felt like I had my old best friend back. I had almost forgotten what an infuriating prat he actually was.

"Hmph," I scowled, stalking back to my own tent.

...

Screams erupted through the air, arousing me from my sleep. Heart pounding in my chest, I slipped out of bed to the entrance of my family's tent with my wand clutched in my hand. I pushed the lace sleeves of my dress up my arms up—I had been too tired to change out—and peeked outside.

From what little I could see illuminated by the light of the few fires still burning, people were running around frantically, away from something that was pursuing them across the field. Bright flashes of green light and loud popping noises filled the air. I could feel panic rising in me.

"Father? Mother?" I darted to their bed, panicking and confused. A cold dread stole over my heart. The bed hadn't even been touched, which meant they never even returned to the tent. I took a deep breath, and made a split-second decision. Before I could change my mind, I pursed my lips determinedly and dashed out.

The very air felt like chaos. I couldn't breathe.

"Camille!"

"Harry!" I cried, rushing into his arms. "What's going on?"

"Look," Ron pointed. I turned to see what he was looking at. A group of masked wizards in dark robes had gathered in a tight pack. Above them, were four struggling figures. I recognized one of them as Mr. Roberts, the Muggle campsite manager. _The other three must be his family_ , I thought.

"That's sick," Ron muttered, as one of the children began spinning wildly, his head flopping limply. I gazed at the scene in horror. Death eaters. Perhaps my parents were even part of this group torturing the Muggles.

Hermione and Ginny came hurrying toward us, pulling coats over their nightdresses, with Mr. Weasley right behind them. Bill, Charlie, and Percy, Ron's oldest brothers, emerged from their own tent, fully dressed, with their sleeves rolled up and their wands out.

"We're going to help the Ministry!" Mr. Weasley shouted. "You lot—get into the woods, and stick together. I'll come and fetch you when we've sorted this out!"

"C'mon," said Fred, grabbing Ginny's hand and starting to pull her toward the woods.

We followed, looking back anxiously as they reached the trees. The crowd beneath the Roberts family was larger than ever. Ministry wizards were trying to get through it to the hooded wizards in the center, but they were having great difficulty.

The colored lanterns that had lit the path to the stadium had been extinguished. Everywhere was filled with the sound of children crying, anxious voices, and dark figures pushing their way through the trees, away from the masked wizards and witches. Then Ron yelled in pain.

"What happened?" said Hermione anxiously, stopping abruptly. "Ron, where are you? Oh this is stupid—lumos!"

The tip of her wand shone brightly, and she directed it across the path.

Ron was lying sprawled on the ground.

"Tripped over a tree root," he said angrily, getting to his feet again.

"Well, with feet that size, hard not to," said a familiar drawling voice from behind us.

We turned sharply. Malfoy was standing alone nearby, leaning against a tree, looking utterly relaxed.

"Fuck off," Ron snapped.

"Language, Weasley," Malfoy sneered. "Hadn't you better be hurrying along, now? You wouldn't like her spotted, would you?"

He nodded at Hermione, and at the same moment, a blast like a bomb sounded from the campsite, and a flash of green light momentarily lit the trees around us.

"What's that supposed to mean?" said Hermione, defiant.

"Granger, they're after Muggles, " Malfoy rolled his eyes. "D'you want to be showing off your knickers in midair? Because if you do, hang around...they're moving this way, and it would give us all a laugh."

"Hermione's a witch," Harry snarled.

"Have it your own way, Potter," said Malfoy, grinning maliciously. "If you think they can't spot a Mudblood, stay where you are."

"Shut up, Malfoy," I growled. Our temporary truce during the match had been pleasant enough. But here he was, back to his horrible self.

"Never mind, Ron," Hermione seized Ron's arm quickly to restrain him as he took a step toward him.

There came a bang from the other side of the trees. Several people nearby screamed. Malfoy chuckled softly.

"Scare easily, don't they?" he said lazily. "I suppose your daddy told you all to hide? What's he up to—trying to rescue the Muggles?"

"Where're your parents?" countered Harry. "Out there wearing masks, are they?" A flash of guilt erupted in my chest.

Malfoy turned his face to Harry, unfazed.

"Well...if they were, I wouldn't be likely to tell you, would I, Potter?"

"Oh come on," said Hermione, with a disgusted look at Malfoy, "let's go and find the others." She pulled us up onto the path again.

"Hang on a second," he called. Harry swivelled back to him, eyes glinting dangerously.

"What, Malfoy?"

"You'd better come with me, Selwyn," his gaze flicked to mine. "I don't think your parents will like it very much if they find out you've been with them." Ron angled himself between both of us.

"You try and take her from us." I took a deep breath.

"It's fine, guys. He's right, my parents…" Hermione squeezed my hand reassuringly.

"Go," she whispered. I released my friend reluctantly.

"Stay safe," I answered, watching them disappear down the trail. My senses heightened as I felt Malfoy come up closer behind me.

"I don't know what you see in them," he scorned.

"Yes, I suppose you wouldn't," I turned, momentarily startled by our unexpectedly close proximity. "You don't have many decent friends, do you?" The smug look on his face vanished, replaced by something colder.

"At least none of them are blood-traitors or...Mudbloods." I stepped away, hands clenching into fists.

"Take that back." I raised my wand threateningly.

"Acting all heroic and brave now, aren't you? Typical Gryffindor," he scoffed.

"Sod off, Malfoy," I gritted my teeth, stalking away from him. "Just leave me alone."

A bright flash of green flew up suddenly from trees far ahead into the sky, halting me in my tracks. I stared in horror at the glittering symbol now illuminating the sky. It was the Dark Mark. Voldemort was back.

* * *

 **oo more Dramille interaction! yay!**

 **okay, i realize i'm basically copying most parts of the book. but honestly, i didn't feel like i wanted to change a lot of things about the original story, so even though i've been trying to reword and rephrase some things, it isn't much.**

 **anyway, i hope you liked this:)**

 **catastropherika xo**


	6. Chapter 6

Having stowed my luggage in our usual compartment, I waited patiently for my friends. I rested my head against the window, stroking Iggy absentmindedly in my lap, as I stared longingly out at the platform, where parents were bidding their children goodbye. Something twinged in my chest.

"Camille!" I looked up as Hermione came in, followed by Harry and Ron. I took my feet off the opposite seat immediately, eyeing their luggage. Iggy jumped off my lap and rubbed himself affectionately against Crookshanks, Hermione's ginger cat.

"Need some help with those?" In a few minutes, we had gotten everyone's trunks packed away neatly under the seats.

"C'mon, Camille. Mum will want to say hi to you, says she hasn't see you for too long," Ron gestured me to follow as he stepped out the compartment door. I obliged eagerly. Ron's mother was easily one of my favorite adults. My parents didn't know, but when I told them I wanted to stay with some friends during summer holidays, I was really staying at the Weasleys' house.

"I haven't seen you for ages!" Mrs. Weasley exclaimed, enveloping me in a warm embrace. "You've grown so much, dear!"

"It's nice to see you again too, Mrs. Weasley," I grinned. "I do miss your cooking. Hey, Charlie. Bill."

"How's Iggy?" Charlie asked good-naturedly. He was possibly one of my favorite Weasley brothers. When I had gone over for a visit two summers ago, we bonded over our mutual love for animals, and he told me all about his dragons in Romania. It was an instant friendship.

"He's fine. A bit fatter, is all."

"I might be seeing you all sooner than you think," said Charlie, grinning, as he hugged Ginny goodbye.

"Why?" said Fred keenly.

"You'll see," said Charlie. "Just don't tell Percy I mentioned it…it's 'classified information, until such time as the Ministry sees fit to release it,' after all."

"Yeah, I sort of wish I were back at Hogwarts this year," sighed Bill, hands in his pockets, looking almost wistfully at the train.

"Why?" said George impatiently.

"You're going to have an interesting year," said Bill, his eyes twinkling. "I might even get time off to come and watch a bit of it."

"A bit of what?" pestered Ron.

But at that moment, the whistle blew, and Mrs. Weasley chivvied us toward the train doors.

"Thanks for having us to stay, Mrs. Weasley," said Hermione as they climbed on board, closed the door, and leaned out of the window to talk to her. A shot of envy panged in my heart.

"Yeah, thanks for everything, Mrs. Weasley," said Harry.

"Oh it was my pleasure, dears," said Mrs. Weasley. "I'd invite you all for Christmas, including you, dear," she gave me a smile, "but…well, I expect you're all going to want to stay at Hogwarts, what with…one thing and another."

"Mum!" said Ron irritably. "What d'you three know that we don't?"

"You'll find out this evening, I expect," said Mrs. Weasley, smiling. "It's going to be very exciting—mind you, I'm very glad they've changed the rules—"

"What rules?" we exclaimed together in desperation.

"I'm sure Professor Dumbledore will tell you.…Now, behave, won't you? Won't you, Fred? And you, George?"

The pistons hissed loudly and the train began to move.

"Tell us what's happening at Hogwarts!" Fred bellowed out of the window as Mrs. Weasley, Bill, and Charlie sped away from them. "What rules are they changing?"

But Mrs. Weasley only smiled and waved. Before the train had rounded the corner, she, Bill, and Charlie had Disapparated.

Disappointed, we made our way back to our compartment. Heavy rain splattered on the windows, making a pleasant drumming noise. Ron undid his trunk, pulled out a pair of lacy maroon robes, and flung them over Pigwidgeon's cage to muffle his hooting. I stifled a snort.

"What in the name of Merlin are those?"

"Dress robes," he replied glumly. "They were in this year's school list." I bit back my laughter.

"Bagman wanted to tell us what's happening at Hogwarts," he said grumpily, sitting down next to Harry. "At the World Cup, remember? But my own mother won't say. Wonder what—"

"Hey, that reminds me of something Malfoy told me. He said we weren't going to have our Inter-House Quidditch Cup either, but he didn't say why," I commented.

"No Inter-House Quidditch Cup?" Harry spluttered. "But that's—"

"Shh!" Hermione whispered suddenly, pressing her finger to her lips and pointing toward the compartment next door. We listened, and heard a familiar drawling voice drifting in through the open door. Speak of the devil, there he was.

"…Father actually considered sending me to Durmstrang rather than Hogwarts, you know. He knows the headmaster, you see. Well, you know his opinion of Dumbledore - the man's such a Mudblood-lover - and Durmstrang doesn't admit that sort of riffraff. But Mother didn't like the idea of me going to school so far away. Father says Durmstrang takes a far more sensible line than Hogwarts about the Dark students actually learn them, not just the defense rubbish we do.…"

Hermione got up, tiptoed to the compartment door, and slid it shut, blocking out his voice.

"So he thinks Durmstrang would have suited him, does he?" she said angrily. "I wish he had gone, then we wouldn't have to put up with him."

"It would save us a lot of misery," I muttered.

"Durmstrang's another wizarding school?" said Harry.

"Yes," said Hermione sniffily, "and it's got a horrible reputation. According to An Appraisal of Magical Education in Europe, it puts a lot of emphasis on the Dark Arts."

"I think I've heard of it," said Ron vaguely. "Where is it? What country?"

"Well, nobody knows, do they?" said Hermione, raising her eyebrows.

"Er—why not?" said Harry.

"There's traditionally been a lot of rivalry between all the magic schools. Durmstrang and Beauxbatons like to conceal their whereabouts so nobody can steal their secrets," said Hermione matter-of-factly.

"Come off it," said Ron, starting to laugh. "Durmstrang's got to be about the same size as Hogwarts—how are you going to hide a great big castle?"

"But Hogwarts is hidden," said Hermione, in surprise. "Everyone knows that…well, everyone who's read Hogwarts, A History, anyway."

"Just you, then," said Ron. "So go on—how d'you hide a place like Hogwarts?"

"It's bewitched," Hermione explained. "If a Muggle looks at it, all they see is a moldering old ruin with a sign over the entrance saying DANGER, DO NOT ENTER, UNSAFE ."

"So Durmstrang'll just look like a ruin to an outsider too?"

"Maybe," said Hermione, shrugging, "or it might have Muggle-repelling charms on it, like the World Cup stadium. And to keep foreign wizards from finding it, they'll have made it Unplottable—"

"Come again?"

"Well, you can enchant a building so it's impossible to plot on a map, can't you?"

"Er…if you say so," said Harry."

"But I think Durmstrang must be somewhere in the far north," said Hermione thoughtfully. "Somewhere very cold, because they've got fur capes as part of their uniforms."

"Ah, think of the possibilities," said Ron dreamily. "It would've been so easy to push Malfoy off a glacier and make it look like an accident.…Shame his mother likes him…"

The rain became heavier and heavier as the train moved farther north. It got so dark that the lanterns had to be lit by midday. The lunch trolley came rattling along the corridor, and Harry bought a large stack of Cauldron Cakes for us to share.

Several of our friends looked in on them as the afternoon progressed, including Seamus Finnigan, Dean Thomas, and Neville Longbottom. Seamus was still wearing his Ireland rosette. Some of its magic seemed to be wearing off now; it was still squeaking "Troy - Mullet - Moran!" but in a very feeble and exhausted sort of way. After half an hour or so, Hermione, growing tired of our endless Quidditch talk, buried herself once more in The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 4, and started trying to learn a Summoning Charm.

"Gran didn't want to go," Neville said miserably, as we were reliving the Cup match. "Wouldn't buy tickets. It sounded amazing though."

"It was," said Ron. "Look at this, Neville…"

He rummaged in his trunk up in the luggage rack and pulled out his miniature figure of Viktor Krum.

"Oh wow," said Neville enviously as Ron tipped Krum onto his pudgy hand.

"We saw him right up close, as well," said Ron. "We were in the Top Box—"

"For the first and last time in your life, Weasley."

Draco Malfoy had appeared in the doorway. Behind him stood Crabbe and Goyle, his enormous, thuggish cronies, both of whom appeared to have grown at least a foot during the summer. Evidently they had overheard the conversation through the compartment door, which Dean and Seamus had left ajar.

"Don't remember asking you to join us, Malfoy," said Harry coolly.

"Weasley...what is that?" said Malfoy, pointing at Pigwidgeon's cage. A sleeve of Ron's dress robes was dangling from it, swaying with the motion of the train, the moldy lace cuff very obvious.

Ron made to stuff the robes out of sight, but Malfoy seized the sleeve quickly and pulled.

"Look at this!" he said in ecstasy, holding up Ron's robes and showing Crabbe and Goyle, "Weasley, you weren't thinking of wearing these, were you? I mean—they were very fashionable in about eighteen ninety…"

"Don't be an arsehole." I glared daggers at the blonde boy.

"Eat dung, Malfoy!" said Ron, turning the same maroon shade as the dress robes as he snatched them back out of Malfoy's grip. Malfoy howled with derisive laughter; Crabbe and Goyle guffawed stupidly.

"So...going to enter, Weasley? Going to try and bring a bit of glory to the family name? There's money involved as well, you know...you'd be able to afford some decent robes if you won…"

"What are you talking about?" snapped Ron.

"Are you going to enter?' Malfoy repeated. "I suppose you will, Potter? You never miss a chance to show off, do you?"

"Either explain what you're on about or go away, Malfoy," said Hermione testily, over the top of The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 4.

A gleeful smile spread across Malfoy's pale face "Don't tell me you don't know?" he said delightedly. "You've got a father and brother at the Ministry and you don't even know? My God, my father told me about it ages ago...heard it from Cornelius Fudge. But then, Father's always associated with the top people at the Ministry...Maybe your father's too junior to know about it, Weasley...yes...they probably don't talk about important stuff in front of him...And you, Selwyn. It seems like your father just doesn't trust you much."

"Get out," I fumed, clenching my hands into fists.

Laughing once more, Malfoy beckoned to Crabbe and Goyle, and the three of them disappeared.

Ron got to his feet and slammed the sliding compartment door so hard behind them that the glass shattered.

"Ron!" said Hermione reproachfully, and she pulled out her wand, muttered "Reparo!" and the glass shards flew back into a single pane and back into the door.

"Well...making it look like he knows everything and we don't..." Ron snarled.

"Even if it is true," I muttered, crossing my arms sulkily. I couldn't deny the fact that Malfoy's words had struck a sensitive chord in me. Ever since my sorting, my parents hadn't treated me the same.

"You okay, Camille?" Harry nudged my arm.

"Yeah," I sighed. "I'll be fine."

"Father's always associated with the top people at the Ministry...Dad could've got a promotion any time...he just likes it where he is..." Ron continued.

"Of course he does," said Hermione quietly. "Don't let Malfoy get to you, Ron—"

"Him! Get to me!? As if!" said Ron, picking up one of the remaining Cauldron Cakes and squashing it into a pulp.

Ron's bad mood continued for the rest of the journey. He didn't talk much as we changed into their school robes, and was still glowering when the Hogwarts Express slowed down at last and finally stopped in the pitch-darkness of Hogsmeade station.

As the train doors opened, there was a rumble of thunder overhead. Hermione and I bundled our cats in our cloaks as we left the train, heads bent and eyes narrowed against the downpour. The freezing rain had grown so heavy that I could hardly see beyond my own hand.

"Hi, Hagrid!" Harry yelled, seeing a gigantic silhouette at the far end of the platform.

"All righ', Harry?" Hagrid bellowed back, waving. "See yeh at the feast if we don' drown!"

First years traditionally reached Hogwarts Castle by sailing across the lake with Hagrid.

"Oooh, I wouldn't fancy crossing the lake in this weather," said Hermione fervently, shivering as we inched slowly along the dark platform with the rest of the crowd. A hundred horseless carriages stood waiting for them outside the station. We climbed gratefully into one of them, the door shut with a snap, and a few moments later, with a great lurch, the long procession of carriages was rumbling and splashing its way up the track toward Hogwarts Castle.

* * *

 **there we go. another chapter. eep i've been writing slower now. but that's okay, i've already written a few chapters after this, so i'll just...take my time. thanks for the new follows, guys :) i appreciate it a lot.**

 **this story is actually my cover for procrastinating on my assignments. see, i hardly start my homework until the last possible minute. but things hAVE been piling up quite a bit, so updates should be less frequent after a few chapters more.**

 **well then. have a good day, y'all :)**

 **catastropherika xo**


	7. Chapter 7

"Blimey," exclaimed Ron as we hurried into the entrance hall, shaking his head and sending water everywhere, "if that keeps up the lake's going to overflow. I'm soak—ARRGH!"

I leaped back instinctively as a red water balloon narrowly missed me and hit Ron in the face. People around us started shrieking and clamoring to get out of the range. I squinted up at Peeves the Poltergeist, giggling madly as he took aim again.

"PEEVES!" yelled an angry voice. "Peeves, come down here at ONCE!"

Professor McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress and head of Gryffindor House, had come dashing out of the Great Hall. She skidded on the wet floor and grabbed Hermione around the neck to stop herself from falling.

"Ouch—sorry, Miss Granger—" "That's all right, Professor!" Hermione gasped, massaging her throat.

"Peeves, get down here NOW!" barked Professor McGonagall.

"Not doing nothing!" cackled Peeves as he flew around gleefully and threw more water bombs at screaming students. "Already wet, aren't they? Little squirts! Wheeeeeeeee!"

"I shall call the Headmaster!" shouted Professor McGonagall. "I'm warning you, Peeves—" Peeves stuck out his tongue at her, then zoomed up the staircase, laughing maniacally the whole time.

"Well, move along then!" Professor McGonagall said sharply to us. We stumbled tiredly into the Great Hall. For the first time, I was far too cold and uncomfortable to admire the marvelous decorations around the Hall.

I plopped down ungracefully on a seat, looking at my empty plate and goblet glumly.

"I'm wet, and I'm hungry!" I complained. "This is the most horrid feeling in the world." Hermione rolled her eyes amusedly, before waving her her wand at me. A stream of hot air blasted my robes, and they dried within seconds.

"Ohh," I moaned, rubbing my now steaming robes between my hands to warm them. "Thanks, 'Mione. You're the best." She gave me a slight smile before drying herself as well.

"Where's the new Defense of the Dark Arts teacher?" she asked, inspecting the staff table anxiously. "Maybe they couldn't get anyone!"

"But it's the most coveted teacher position. Surely there must be someone," I furrowed my brows. "Or if no one wanted it, they could always get Snape. Everyone knows he's been asking for that position since forever." I made a face. "On the other hand, maybe that's not a good idea." Hermione shuddered at the thought.

"No, thanks."

Just then, the doors of the Great Hall opened, and McGonagall came in, leading a long line of wet, shivering first years behind her.

The sorting went quickly, and all of us picked our utensils up and stared intently at our plates.

"Come on, come on. Anytime now would be nice," I muttered impatiently. No sooner had the words "tuck in" left Professor Dumbledore's lips, than did our plates fill magically with the most wonderful food, as usual. I attacked my plate eagerly, blissfully oblivious to all conversation around me. Until Hermione realized that the food we were eaten were made by house elves, and refused to eat another bite.

"Slave labor," she said, breathing hard through her nose. "That's what made this dinner. Slave labor."

Happily stuffed, I rested my head against Ginny's shoulder, yawning. Professor Dumbledore stood and gave his usual speech, but none of it made much of an impression on me...until he said that there wasn't going to be an Inter-House Quidditch Cup this year. I sat up abruptly. So Malfoy had told me the truth after all. But I had thought he told me that just to wound me up. I hadn't expected it to be true.

I looked around in dismay at my Quidditch teammates. They were speechless too, too appalled to say anything.

Dumbledore went on, "This is due to an event that will be starting in October, and continuing throughout the school year, taking up much of the teachers' time and energy—but I am sure you will all enjoy it immensely. I have great pleasure in announcing that this year at Hogwarts—"

But at that moment, there was a deafening rumble of thunder and the doors of the Great Hall banged open.

A man stood in the doorway, leaning upon a long staff, shrouded in a black traveling cloak. Every head in the Great Hall swiveled toward the stranger, suddenly brightly illuminated by a fork of lightning that flashed across the ceiling. He lowered his hood, shook out a long mane of grizzled, dark gray hair, then began to walk up toward the teachers' table.

Another flash of lightning crossed the ceiling. Hermione drew a gasp next to me.

The man's face was scarred, very scarred, and a part of his nose was missing. But the most frightening thing about him was his eyes. One of them was small and dark, the other was large and round, and blue. It didn't move like any normal eye, instead swivelling around and around, as if the man had no control of it.

The stranger reached Dumbledore. He stretched out a hand that was as badly scarred as his face, and Dumbledore shook it, and gestured the man to the empty seat on his right-hand side.

"May I introduce our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher?" said Dumbledore brightly into the silence. "Professor Moody." No one clapped, save for Dumbledore and Hagrid. Everyone was still transfixed by his odd appearance.

"Moody?" Harry muttered to Ron. "Mad-Eye Moody? The one your dad went to help this morning?"

"Must be," said Ron in a low, awed voice.

"What happened to him?" Hermione whispered. "What happened to his face?"

"Dunno," Ron whispered back, watching Moody with fascination. Dumbledore cleared his throat.

"As I was saying," he said, smiling at the sea of students before him, all of whom were still gazing transfixed at Mad-Eye Moody, "we are to have the honor of hosting a very exciting event over the coming months, an event that has not been held for over a century. It is my very great pleasure to inform you that the Triwizard Tournament will be taking place at Hogwarts this year."

"You're JOKING!" said Fred Weasley loudly.

The tension that had filled the Hall ever since Moody's arrival suddenly broke. Nearly everyone laughed, and Dumbledore chuckled appreciatively.

"I am not joking, Mr. Weasley," he said, "though now that you mention it, I did hear an excellent one over the summer about a troll, a hag, and a leprechaun who all go into a bar.

Professor McGonagall cleared her throat loudly.

"Er—but maybe this is not the time...no..." said Dumbledore, "where was I? Ah yes, the Triwizard Tournament...well, some of you will not know what this tournament involves, so I hope those who do know will forgive me for giving a short explanation, and allow their attention to wander freely.

"The Triwizard Tournament was first established some seven hundred years ago as a friendly competition between the three largest European schools of wizardry: Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang. A champion was selected to represent each school, and the three champions competed in three magical tasks. The schools took it in turns to host the tournament once every five years, and it was generally agreed to be a most excellent way of establishing ties between young witches and wizards of different nationalities -until, that is, the death toll mounted so high that the tournament was discontinued."

"Death toll?" Hermione whispered, looking alarmed. But all of us were far too excited to share her concern.

"I'm totally signing up," I chatted excitedly with several other Gryffindors. "This is wonderful!"

"There have been several attempts over the centuries to reinstate the tournament," Dumbledore continued, "none of which has been very successful. However, our own departments of International Magical Cooperation and Magical Games and Sports have decided the time is ripe for another attempt. We have worked hard over the summer to ensure that this time, no champion will find himself or herself in mortal danger.

"The heads of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving with their short-listed contenders in October, and the selection of the three champions will take place at Halloween. An impartial judge will decide which students are most worthy to compete for the Triwizard Cup, the glory of their school, and a thousand Galleons personal prize money."

"I'm going for it!" Fred hissed down the table, his face lit with enthusiasm at the prospect of such glory and riches. He was not the only person who seemed to be visualizing himself as the Hogwarts champion. At every House table, Harry could see people either gazing raptly at Dumbledore, or else whispering fervently to their neighbors. But then Dumbledore spoke again, and the Hall quieted once more.

"Eager though I know all of you will be to bring the Triwizard Cup to Hogwarts," he said, "the heads of the participating schools, along with the Ministry of Magic, have agreed to impose an age restriction on contenders this year. Only students who are of age—that is to say, seventeen years or older—will be allowed to put forward their names for consideration."

"No!" I exclaimed in outrage, joining several protests. The Weasley twins looked furious.

Dumbledore raised his voice slightly. "This is a measure we feel is necessary, given that the tournament tasks will still be difficult and dangerous, whatever precautions we take, and it is highly unlikely that students below sixth and seventh year will be able to cope with them. I will personally be ensuring that no underage student hoodwinks our impartial judge into making them Hogwarts champion." His light blue eyes twinkled as they flickered over Fred's and George's mutinous faces. "I therefore beg you not to waste your time submitting yourself if you are under seventeen."

"The delegations from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving in October and remaining with us for the greater part of this year. I know that you will all extend every courtesy to our foreign guests while they are with us, and will give your whole-hearted support to the Hogwarts champion when he or she is selected. And now, it is late, and I know how important it is to you all to be alert and rested as you enter your lessons tomorrow morning. Bedtime! Chop chop!"

Dumbledore sat down again and turned to talk to Mad-Eye Moody. There was a great scraping and banging as we got to their feet and swarmed toward the double doors into the entrance hall.

"They can't do that!" said George, who had not joined the crowd moving toward the door, but was standing up and glaring at Dumbledore. "We're seventeen in April, why can't we have a shot?"

"They're not stopping me entering," said Fred stubbornly, also scowling at the top table.

"The champions'll get to do all sorts of stuff you'd never be allowed to do normally. And a thousand Galleons prize money!"

"Yeah," said Ron, a faraway look on his face. "Yeah, a thousand Galleons..."

"Come on," said Hermione, "we'll be the only ones left here if you don't move."

We set off for the entrance hall, Fred and George debating the ways in which Dumbledore might stop those who were under seventeen from entering the tournament.

"Who's this impartial judge who's going to decide who the champions are?" said Harry.

"Dunno," said Fred, "but it's them we'll have to fool. I reckon a couple of drops of Aging Potion might do it, George..." I perked up thoughtfully. That wasn't a bad idea.

"Dumbledore knows you're not of age, though," said Ron.

"Yeah, but he's not the one who decides who the champion is, is he?" said Fred shrewdly. "Sounds to me like once this judge knows who wants to enter, he'll choose the best from each school and never mind how old they are. Dumbledore's trying to stop us giving our names."

"People have died, though!" said Hermione in a worried voice as we walked through a door concealed behind a tapestry and started up another, narrower staircase.

"Yeah," said Fred airily, "but that was years ago, wasn't it? Anyway, where's the fun without a bit of risk? Hey, Ron, what if we find out how to get 'round Dumbledore? Fancy entering?"

"What d'you reckon?" Ron asked us. "Be cool to enter, wouldn't it? But I s'pose they might want someone older...Dunno if we've learned enough…"

"I'd be up for it," I interjected.

"No!" Hermione elbowed me hard. "You're smarter than that!"

"I definitely haven't," came Neville's gloomy voice from behind Fred and George.

"I expect my gran'd want me to try, though. She's always going on about how I should be upholding the family honor. I'll just have to—oops..."

Neville's foot had sunk right through a step halfway up the staircase. Harry and Ron yanked him out by the armpits, setting him back on his feet. Meanwhile, a suit of armor at the top of the stairs creaked and clanked its plates in laughter.

"Shut it, you," said Ron, banging down its visor as they passed. We made their way up to the entrance to Gryffindor Tower, which was concealed behind a large portrait of a fat lady in a pink silk dress.

"Password?" she said as we approached.

"Balderdash," said George, "a prefect downstairs told me."

A crackling fire warmed the circular common room, which was full of squashy armchairs and tables. Hermione cast the merrily dancing flames a dark look.

"Slave labor," she muttered under her breath, before tugging at my arm. "Come on. It's late, we should sleep soon." We bid the boys goodbye before trudging up the stairs to the girls' dormitory.

* * *

 **bit of a filler, i know. but i couldn't cut out this chapter because it's where Moody and the Triwizard Tournament are introduced.**

 **so i read this other FANTASTIC DRACO/OC FIC and wow it might be my favorite fic ever. if not for the fact that IT'S DISCONTINUED AND HASN'T BEEN UPDATED SINCE LAST YEAR. it's called _Green Eyed Monster_ if you want to read it. it's seriously first-rate fanfiction, like WHOOO THE ANGST and that superb insight on the Slytherins? i love Slytherins. unfortunately, the author didn't say anything about whether she'll be back to update or if she's abandoned it (which is sad because it really _is_ good)**

 **anyway, it gave me a lot of inspiration to try to follow my own plot instead. and i already have an idea, but it won't be obvious until The Order of the Phoenix.**

 **aaaaaaand i'm done rambling now. i hope you liked this, and PLEASE REVIEW GUYSS THANKS ILY**

 **catastropherika xo**


	8. Chapter 8

"Today's not bad...outside all morning," said Ron, who was running his finger down the Monday column of his schedule. "Herbology with the Hufflepuffs and Care of Magical Creatures...damn it, we're still with the Slytherins..."

"Double Divination this afternoon," Harry groaned, looking down.

"You should have given it up like me, shouldn't you?" said Hermione briskly, buttering herself some toast. "Then you'd be doing something sensible like Arithmancy."

"He could, but Arithmancy is really intense and not everyone's as smart as you," I mumbled through a mouthful of scrambled eggs. "Divination's boring, but at least it's easy."

"Easy for you, maybe," Harry grumbled.

"True," I smiled widely. "But it's only because she hardly pays attention to the rest of us when she's got you to bother."

"You're eating again, I notice," said Ron, watching Hermione adding liberal amounts of jam to her toast too.

"I've decided there are better ways of making a stand about elf rights," said Hermione haughtily.

"Yeah...and you were hungry," said Ron, grinning. There was a sudden rustling noise from above, and a hundred owls came soaring through the open windows carrying the morning mail.

"Hey, Mal," I cooed, stroking my owl, who snapped up the treat I held out to him. I quickly untied the newspaper I was sent every morning, before sending him off.

"What's Mal short for?" Seamus grinned teasingly from across the table. "Malfoy?"

"It's Malachi, you prat," I groaned, rolling up my copy of The Daily Prophet and smacking him on the head.

...

"Bubotubers," Professor Sprout said briskly. "They need squeezing. You will collect the pus—" I blanched, eyeballing the black, squirming plant that looked like a hybrid between a slug and an octopus tentacle distrustfully.

"The what?" said Seamus Finnigan, sounding revolted.

"Pus, Finnigan, pus," said Professor Sprout, "and it's extremely valuable, so don't waste it. You will collect the pus, I say, in these bottles. Wear your dragon-hide gloves; it can do funny things to the skin when undiluted, bubotuber pus."

Squeezing the bubotubers might've been one of the most disgusting things I had ever done, watching the thick, yellow-green liquid that erupted from each swell. But like pimples, it was brought about the satisfying feeling only popping something could do. All the same, I was glad when it was over.

Next, was Care of Magical Creatures with Hagrid. It would have been my favorite if not for the fact that we always had it with the Slytherins.

"Mornin'!" Hagrid said, grinning at us as we approached his cabin. "Be'er wait fer the Slytherins, they won' want ter miss this—Blast-Ended Skrewts!"

"The what, now?" I approached the open wooden crates at his feet cautiously. They were rattling slightly, emitting the occasional small exploding sound.

"Eurgh!" squealed Lavender Brown, jumping backward. I took a hurried step back myself after taking a look. They were pale and slimy, with no visible heads, and legs sticking out everywhere. I turned away, nose wrinkling at the smell of rotting fish. They were giving off a very powerful smell of rotting fish. Every once in a while, a small spark would fly out from one end of a skrewt, pushing it forward a few inches. I felt my heart sink. Slime was easily high-up on my hate list, and I had already encountered two very slimy things today.

"On'y jus' hatched," said Hagrid proudly, "so yeh'll be able ter raise 'em yerselves! Thought we'd make a bit of a project of it!" A burst of guilt erupted in my chest. Hagrid was trying to make classes interesting for us, he really was.

"And why would we want to raise them?" said a cold voice.

The Slytherins had arrived. The speaker was Draco Malfoy. Of course.

Hagrid looked stumped at the question.

"I mean, what do they do?" asked Malfoy. "What is the point of them?"

Hagrid opened his mouth, apparently thinking hard; there was a few seconds' pause, then he said roughly, "Tha's next lesson, Malfoy. Yer jus' feedin' 'em today. Now, yeh'll wan' ter try 'em on a few diff'rent things—I've never had 'em before, not sure what they'll go fer—I got ant eggs an' frog livers an' a bit o' grass snake—just try 'em out with a bit of each."

"First pus and now this," muttered Seamus.

I bit my lip, trying to hide my disgust, as I picked up handfuls of squelchy frog liver. "Blegh."

"This is ridiculous," complained Malfoy, as he settled next to me.

" _You're_ ridiculous. Go away," I muttered, frowning.

"Can't," he sighed. "There isn't space anywhere else." I looked up, he was right. I had chosen the smallest crate with the least skrewts, and I had expected to be alone. Until now.

"Fantastic coincidence, isn't it?" I grumbled. "Well, if that's the case...you can do everything. I don't want to touch them."

"Of course, you'd like that, wouldn't you? You hate slime. I remember." I glanced up at him, surprised. Malfoy had a sly smile on his face.

"No," he said.

"What?"

"No," he repeated. "I'm not doing everything. You do your own job, or I'll...throw a skrewt at you." I scowled.

"You're horrible." Malfoy's only reply was a pleased snigger.

"Ouch!" yelled Dean Thomas suddenly. "It got me."

Hagrid hurried over to him, looking anxious.

"Its end exploded!" said Dean angrily, showing Hagrid a burn on his hand.

"Ah, yeah, that can happen when they blast off," said Hagrid, nodding.

"Eurgh!" said Lavender Brown again. "Eurgh, Hagrid, what's that pointy thing on it?"

"Ah, some of 'em have got stings," said Hagrid enthusiastically. "I reckon they're the males...The females've got sorta sucker things on their bellies...I think they might be ter suck blood."

"Well, I can certainly see why we're trying to keep them alive," said Malfoy sarcastically. "Who wouldn't want pets that can burn, sting, and bite all at once?"

"Will you ever stop being an insensitive git?" I hissed, elbowing him hard.

"Just because they're not very pretty, it doesn't mean they're not useful," Hermione snapped. "Dragon blood's amazingly magical, but you wouldn't want a dragon for a pet, would you?"

Just then, a skrewt blasted right by my hand.

"Ow!" I released a startled yelp, jerking away. Malfoy was by my side in a flash.

"Are you okay?" he questioned urgently, grabbing my hand to inspect it.

"Yeah," I mumbled. "It's just a small burn. I was just shocked."

"Good," he dropped my hand abruptly, turning away. I frowned after him for a moment, trying to figure out what had just happened. But then Hagrid had begun telling us more his Blast-Ended Skrewts.

"Well, at least the skrewts are small," said Ron as we made their way back up to the castle for lunch an hour later.

"They are now," said Hermione in an exasperated voice, "but once Hagrid's found out what they eat, I expect they'll be six feet long."

"Well, that won't matter if they turn out to cure seasickness or something, will it?" said Ron, grinning slyly at her.

"You know perfectly well I only said that to shut Malfoy up," said Hermione. "As a matter of fact I think he's right. The best thing to do would be to stamp on the lot of them before they start attacking us all."

We sat down at the Gryffindor table and helped ourselves to lamb chops and potatoes.

"Er—is this the new stand on elf rights?" said Ron, staring at Hermione was stuffing herself quickly with food. "You're going to make yourself puke instead?"

"No," said Hermione, with as much dignity as she could muster with her mouth bulging with sprouts. "I just want to get to the library."

"What?" said Ron in disbelief. "Hermione—it's the first day back! We haven't even got homework yet!"

Hermione shrugged and continued to shovel down her food as though she had not eaten for days. Then she leapt to her feet, said, "See you at dinner!" and departed at high speed.

"Mad, that one," Ron muttered, shaking his head. Harry and I exchanged a knowing look.

"I'm heading back to feed Iggy," I announced, pushing back my empty plate and standing.

On my way back to the Gryffindor tower, I bumped into Blaise Zabini, the only friend who hadn't abandoned me after first year.

"How's my favorite Slytherin?" I asked as he came up beside me.

"I'm alright," Blaise said. I frowned. He was giving me an odd smirk.

"What?" A curious, but suspicious feeling stole over me.

"What's going on between you and Draco?" I gaped at the tall, dark boy for a moment.

"You'd better not be suggesting what I'm thinking of right now," I shoved his arm gently. "Unless you're referring to the mutual hateship we have for each other."

"Don't worry, I won't tell anyone what happened in Care of Magical Creatures," Blaise winked, chuckling as he dodged my elbow. I felt my cheeks flush.

"That's nothing!" I spluttered. "He was...being appropriately concerned for a fellow classmate, is all!" Unfortunately, the words sounded fake even to myself.

"If you say so." He was still laughing as we parted ways. I rolled my eyes, fighting back a fond smile for my friend. He meant well, most of the time, but Malfoy? That entitled, self-obsessed, egotistical brat? Thanks, but no.

...

Divination went by quickly. It was the usual, where Professor Trelawney paid exceptional attention to Harry.

"Miserable old bat," said Ron bitterly as we joined the crowds descending the staircases back to the Great Hall and dinner. "That'll take all weekend, that will..."

"It was your fault," I grumbled. Professor Trelawney didn't usually give us a lot of homework, but she must've heard Ron's lewd comment to Lavender.

"Lots of homework?" said Hermione brightly, catching up with us. "Professor Vector didn't give us any at all!"

"Well, bully for Professor Vector," said Ron moodily.

We reached the entrance hall, which was packed with people queuing for dinner. They had just joined the end of the line, when a loud voice rang out behind us.

"Weasley! Hey, Weasley!"

We turned around. Malfoy and his cronies were standing there, each looking thoroughly pleased about something.

"What?" said Ron shortly.

"Your dad's in the paper, Weasley!" said Malfoy, brandishing a copy of the Daily Prophet and speaking very loudly, so that everyone in the packed entrance hall could hear.

"Listen to this!

FURTHER MISTAKES AT THE MINISTRY OF MAGIC

It seems as though the Ministry of Magic's troubles are not yet at an end, writes Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent. Recently under fire for its poor crowd control at the Quidditch World Cup, and still unable to account for the disappearance of one of its witches, the Ministry was plunged into fresh embarrassment yesterday by the antics of Arnold Weasley, of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office." Malfoy looked up.

"Imagine them not even getting his name right, Weasley. It's almost as though he's a complete nonentity, isn't it?" he crowed.

Everyone in the entrance hall was listening now. Malfoy straightened the paper with a flourish and read on:

"Arnold Weasley, who was charged with possession of a flying car two years ago, was yesterday involved in a tussle with several Muggle law-keepers over a number of highly aggressive dustbins. Mr. Weasley appears to have rushed to the aid of "Mad-Eye" Moody, the aged ex-Auror who retired from the Ministry when no longer able to tell the difference between a handshake and attempted murder. Unsurprisingly, Mr. Weasley found, upon arrival at Mr. Moody's heavily guarded house, that Mr. Moody had once again raised a false alarm. Mr. Weasley was forced to modify several memories before he could escape from the policemen, but refused to answer Daily Prophet questions about why he had involved the Ministry in such an undignified and potentially embarrassing scene."

"And there's a picture, Weasley!" said Malfoy, flipping the paper over and holding it up. "A picture of your parents outside their house—if you can call it a house! Your mother could do with losing a bit of weight, couldn't she?" I drew in a sharp breath, withdrawing every good thought I had recently about him. He was just plain nasty.

Ron was shaking with fury. Everyone was staring at him.

"That's low, even for you," I sneered. "Mrs. Weasley is one of the nicest people I know, and you have no right to say anything like that about her."

"Blood-traitor," he hissed. I recoiled slightly as if he had hit me. He might as well have.

"Get stuffed, Malfoy," said Harry. "C'mon, Ron..."

"Oh yeah, you were staying with them this summer, weren't you, Potter?" sneered Malfoy. "So tell me, is his mother really that porky, or is it just the picture?"

"You know your mother, Malfoy?" said Harry—both Hermione and I had grabbed the back of Ron's robes to stop him from launching himself at Malfoy—"that expression she's got, like she's got dung under her nose? Has she always looked like that, or was it just because you were with her?"

Malfoy's pale face went slightly pink.

"Don't you dare insult my mother, Potter."

"Keep your fat mouth shut, then," said Harry, turning away.

BANG!

Several people screamed. Harry and I reached into our robes to pull our wands out. A second BANG, and a roar echoed through the hall.

"OH NO YOU DON'T, LADDIE!"

Professor Moody was limping down the marble staircase. His wand was out and it was pointing right at a pure white ferret, which was shivering on the stone-flagged floor, exactly where Malfoy had been standing. There was a terrified silence.

"Did he get you?" Moody growled at Harry.

"No," said Harry, "missed."

"LEAVE IT!" Moody shouted.

"Leave—what?" Harry said, bewildered.

"Not you—him!" Moody growled, jerking his thumb over his shoulder at Crabbe, who had just frozen, about to pick up the white ferret. It seemed that Moody's rolling eye was magical and could see out of the back of his head.

Moody started to limp toward Crabbe, Goyle, and the ferret, which gave a terrified squeak and took off, streaking toward the dungeons.

"I don't think so!" roared Moody, pointing his wand at the ferret again—it flew ten feet into the air, fell with a smack to the floor, and then bounced upward once more. I winced.

"I don't like people who attack when their opponent's back's turned," growled Moody as the ferret bounced higher and higher, squealing in pain. "Stinking, cowardly, scummy thing to do..."

The ferret flew through the air, its legs and tail flailing helplessly.

"Never—do—that—again—" said Moody, speaking each word as the ferret hit the stone floor and bounced upward again. I took a step forward, readying myself to ask him to stop. Malfoy was horrible, but not even he deserved this.

"Professor Moody!" said a shocked voice.

Professor McGonagall was coming down the marble staircase with her arms full of books.

"Hello, Professor McGonagall," said Moody calmly, bouncing the ferret still higher.

"What—what are you doing?" said Professor McGonagall, her eyes following the bouncing ferret's progress through the air.

"Teaching," said Moody.

"Teach—Moody, is that a student?" shrieked Professor McGonagall, the books spilling out of her arms.

"Yep," said Moody.

"No!" cried Professor McGonagall, running down the stairs and pulling out her wand; a moment later, with a loud snapping noise, Draco Malfoy had reappeared, lying in a heap on the floor with his sleek blond hair all over his now brilliantly pink face. He got to his feet, wincing.

"Moody, we never use Transfiguration as a punishment!" said Professor McGonagall weakly. "Surely Professor Dumbledore told you that?"

"He might've mentioned it, yeah," said Moody, scratching his chin unconcernedly, "but I thought a good sharp shock—"

"We give detentions, Moody! Or speak to the offender's Head of House!"

"I'll do that, then," said Moody, staring at the blonde boy with great dislike.

Malfoy, whose pale eyes were still watering with pain and humiliation, looked malevolently up at Moody and muttered something in which the words "my father" were distinguishable.

"Oh yeah?" said Moody quietly, limping forward a few steps, the dull clunk of his wooden leg echoing around the hall. "Well, I know your father of old, boy...You tell him Moody's keeping a close eye on his son...you tell him that from me...Now, your Head of House'll be Snape, will it?"

"Yes," said Malfoy resentfully.

"Another old friend," growled Moody. "I've been looking forward to a chat with old Snape. Come on, you…"

And he seized Malfoy's upper arm and marched him off toward the dungeons.

Professor McGonagall stared anxiously after them for a few moments, then waved her wand at her fallen books, causing them to soar up into the air and back into her arms.

"Don't talk to me," Ron said quietly to Harry and Hermione as they sat down at the Gryffindor table a few minutes later, surrounded by excited talk on all sides about what had just happened.

"Why not?" said Hermione in surprise.

"Because I want to fix that in my memory forever," said Ron, his eyes closed and an uplifted expression on his face. "Draco Malfoy, the amazing bouncing ferret."

I couldn't help a guilty laugh, along with Harry and Hermione.

"He could have really hurt Malfoy, though," she said. "It was good, really, that Professor McGonagall stopped it—"

"Hermione!" said Ron furiously, his eyes snapping open again, "you're ruining the best moment of my life!"

"She's right," I mumbled through a mouthful of food. "It was cruel, even for Malfoy." Ron shot me an exasperated glare.

Hermione made an impatient noise and began to eat at top speed again.

"Don't tell me you're going back to the library this evening?" said Harry, watching her.

"Got to," said Hermione thickly. "Loads to do."

"But you told us Professor Vector—"

"It's not schoolwork," she said. Within five minutes, she had cleared her plate and departed. No sooner had she gone than her seat was taken by Fred Weasley.

"Moody!" he said. "How cool is he?"

"Beyond cool," said George, sitting down opposite Fred. "Super cool," said the twins' best friend, Lee Jordan, sliding into the seat beside George. "We had him this afternoon," he told us.

"What was it like?" said Harry eagerly.

Fred, George, and Lee exchanged looks full of meaning.

"Never had a lesson like it," said Fred.

"He knows, man," said Lee.

"Knows what?" said Ron, leaning forward.

"Knows what it's like to be out there doing it," said George impressively.

"Doing what?" said Harry.

"Fighting the Dark Arts," said Fred.

"He's seen it all," said George.

"Mazing," said Lee.

Ron dived into his bag for his schedule.

"We haven't got him till Thursday!" he said in a disappointed voice.

* * *

 **so. that cute moment between Camille and Draco in Care of Magical Creatures. i had to restrain myself from going all out for what could've been a sweet moment, but it wouldn't have been realistic. even now, i'm not sure if what i'm doing right now has an appropriate balance or not. because on one hand, I HAVE TO CREATE SOME SORT OF POSSIBILITY (aka occasional flirting etc.) OF THEM EVENTUALLY GETTING TOGETHER (see, that wouldn't work if they started off really _hating_ each other, ya feel?). on the other hand, they're still kinda AGAINST the idea of each other, so i can't do too much. **

**ya know, reviews wOULD help *finger guns* *winks***

 **which reminds me. i goT MY FIRST REVIEW AND I'M REALLY HAPPY OKAY**

 **LokeLeo thanks ily :")**

 **catastropherika xo**


	9. Chapter 9

It was finally Thursday, and our first lesson with Moody was right after lunchtime. Everyone was planning to queue outside his classroom early because they wanted good seats. I would've been too, if not for the fact that I was running late. While everyone had gotten started on their Divination essay the previous night, I had instead opted to sleep. So I had to rush to get at least the first part of it done during lunchtime in the library.

I cursed loudly as the bell rang. Wonderful. The only seat available was next to Malfoy.

I quickly sat and took out my copy of The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection, setting it on my desk, dutifully ignoring his presence. Until he slipped a note under my book.

 _Library after dinner, 7pm._

I almost groaned, having forgotten than Snape had assigned us to be partners in Potions. If not for the fact that we had both been late for class, we wouldn't have had to sit together and have Snape partner us. I cursed my tendency to be late for everything.

I was about to reply when I heard Moody's distinctive clunking footsteps coming down the corridor, and he entered the room, looking as strange and frightening as ever.

"You can put those away," he growled, limping over to his desk and sitting down, "those books. You won't need them."

Puzzled, I returned my book to my bag.

Moody took out a register, shook his long mane of grizzled gray hair out of his twisted and scarred face, and began to call out names, his normal eye moving steadily down the list while his magical eye swiveled around, fixing upon each student as he or she answered.

"Right then," he said, when the last person had declared themselves present, "I've had a letter from Professor Lupin about this class. Seems you've had a pretty thorough grounding in tackling Dark creatures—you've covered boggarts, Red Caps, hinkypunks, grindylows, Kappas, and werewolves, is that right?"

There was a general murmur of assent.

"But you're behind—very behind—on dealing with curses," said Moody. "So I'm here to bring you up to scratch on what wizards can do to each other. I've got one year to teach you how to deal with Dark—"

"What, aren't you staying?" Ron blurted out. Moody's magical eye spun around to stare at him.

"You'll be Arthur Weasley's son, eh?" Moody said. "Your father got me out of a very tight corner a few days ago...Yeah, I'm staying just the one year. Special favor to Dumbledore...One year, and then back to my quiet retirement."

He gave a harsh laugh, and then clapped his gnarled hands together.

"So—straight into it. Curses. They come in many strengths and forms. Now, according to the Ministry of Magic, I'm supposed to teach you countercurses and leave it at that. I'm not supposed to show you what illegal Dark curses look like until you're in the sixth year. You're not supposed to be old enough to deal with it till then. But Professor Dumbledore's got a higher opinion of your nerves, he reckons you can cope, and I say, the sooner you know what you're up against, the better. How are you supposed to defend yourself against something you've never seen? A wizard who's about to put an illegal curse on you isn't going to tell you what he's about to do. He's not going to do it nice and polite to your face. You need to be prepared. You need to be alert and watchful. You need to put that away, Miss Brown, when I'm talking."

Lavender jumped and blushed. She had been showing Parvati her completed horoscope under the desk. Apparently Moody's magical eye could see through solid wood, as well as out of the back of his head.

"So...do any of you know which curses are most heavily punished by wizarding law?"

Several hands rose tentatively into the air, including Ron's and Hermione's. Moody pointed at Ron, though his magical eye was still fixed on Lavender.

"Er," said Ron tentatively, "my dad told me about one...Is it called the Imperius Curse, or something?"

"Ah, yes," said Moody appreciatively. "Your father would know that one. Gave the Ministry a lot of trouble at one time, the Imperius Curse."

He got heavily to his feet, opened his desk drawer, and took out a glass jar. Three large black spiders were scuttling around inside it.

Moody reached into the jar, caught one of the spiders, and held it in the palm of his hand so that they could all see it. He then pointed his wand at it and muttered, "Imperio!"

The spider leapt from Moody's hand on a fine thread of silk and began to swing backward and forward as though on a trapeze. It stretched out its legs rigidly, then did a backflip, breaking the thread and landing on the desk, where it began to cartwheel in circles. Moody jerked his wand, and the spider rose onto two of its hind legs and went into what was unmistakably a tap dance.

Everyone was laughing—everyone except Moody.

"Think it's funny, do you?" he growled. "You'd like it, would you, if I did it to you?"

The laughter died away almost instantly.

"Total control," said Moody quietly as the spider balled itself up and began to roll over and over. "I could make it jump out of the window, drown itself, throw itself down one of your throats..." I flinched.

"Years back, there were a lot of witches and wizards being controlled by the Imperius Curse," said Moody. "Some job for the Ministry, trying to sort out who was being forced to act, and who was acting of their own free will. The Imperius Curse can be fought, and I'll be teaching you how, but it takes real strength of character, and not everyone's got it. Better avoid being hit with it if you can. CONSTANT VIGILANCE!" he barked, and everyone jumped.

Moody picked up the somersaulting spider and threw it back into the jar.

"Anyone else know one? Another illegal curse?" Hermione's hand flew up again, and, to my surprise, Neville's.

"Yes?" said Moody, his magical eye rolling right over to fix on Neville.

"There's one—the Cruciatus Curse," said Neville in a small but distinct voice.

Moody was looking very intently at Neville, this time with both eyes.

"Your name's Longbottom?" he said, his magical eye swooping down to check the register again.

Neville nodded nervously, but Moody made no further inquiries. Turning back to the class at large, he reached into the jar for the next spider and placed it upon the desktop, where it remained motionless, apparently too scared to move.

"The Cruciatus Curse," said Moody. "Needs to be a bit bigger for you to get the idea," he said, pointing his wand at the spider. "Engorgio!" The spider swelled. It was now larger than a tarantula.

Moody raised his wand again, pointed it at the spider, and muttered, "Crucio!"

At once, the spider's legs bent in upon its body. It rolled over and began to twitch horribly, rocking from side to side. No sound came from it, but I was sure it would have been screaming if it could. Moody did not remove his wand, and the spider started to shudder and jerk more violently.

"No," I whispered, aghast.

"Stop it!" Hermione said shrilly. She was looking, not at the spider, but at Neville, whose hands were clenched upon the desk in front of him, his knuckles white, his eyes wide and horrified.

Moody raised his wand. The spider's legs relaxed, but it continued to twitch.

"Reducio," he muttered, and the spider shrank back to its proper size. He put it back into the jar.

"Pain," said Moody softly. "You don't need thumbscrews or knives to torture someone if you can perform the Cruciatus Curse...That one was very popular once too.

"Right...anyone know any others?" Hermione's hand shook slightly as, for the third time, she raised it into the air.

"Yes?" he said, looking at her.

"Avada Kedavra," Hermione whispered. Several people looked uneasily around at her.

"Ah," said Moody, another slight smile twisting his lopsided mouth. "Yes, the last and worst. Avada Kedavra...the Killing Curse."

He put his hand into the glass jar, and almost as though it knew what was coming, the third spider scuttled frantically around the bottom of the jar, trying to evade Moody's fingers, but he trapped it, and placed it upon the desktop. It started to scuttle frantically across the wooden surface. He raised his wand.

"Avada Kedavra!" he roared.

There was a flash of blinding green light and a rushing sound, as though a vast, invisible something was soaring through the air. Instantaneously the spider rolled over onto its back, unmarked, but unmistakably dead. I whimpered, clenching my hands into fists. Several of the students stifled cries. Ron had thrown himself backward and almost toppled off his seat as the spider skidded toward him.

Moody swept the dead spider off the desk onto the floor.

"Not nice," he said calmly. "Not pleasant. And there's no countercurse. There's no blocking it. Only one known person has ever survived it, and he's sitting right in front of me." My eyes darted up instinctively to Harry. He looked uncomfortable under the weight of everyone's gazes.

"Avada Kedavra's a curse that needs a powerful bit of magic behind it—you could all get your wands out now and point them at me and say the words, and I doubt I'd get so much as a nosebleed. But that doesn't matter. I'm not here to teach you how to do it." Could've fooled me, I thought bitterly. "Now, if there's no countercurse, why am I showing you? Because you've got to know. You've got to appreciate what the worst is. You don't want to find yourself in a situation where you're facing it. CONSTANT VIGILANCE!" he roared, and the whole class jumped again.

"Now...those three curses—Avada Kedavra, Imperius, and Cruciatus—are known as the Unforgivable Curses. The use of any one of them on a fellow human being is enough to earn a life sentence in Azkaban. That's what you're up against. That's what I've got to teach you to fight. You need preparing. You need arming. But most of all, you need to practice constant, never-ceasing vigilance. Get out your quills...copy this down…"

Thankfully, there weren't any more demonstrations, and the rest of the class was spent on taking notes on each of the Unforgivable Curses. No one spoke until the bell rang—but when Moody had dismissed them and they had left the classroom, a torrent of talk burst forth. Most people were discussing the curses in awed voices—"Did you see it twitch?" "—and when he killed it—just like that!" I felt much better after class ended, when there wasn't the immediate threat of being terrified by Moody's erratic behavior. But I didn't think it was going to be my favorite class.

Hermione ate quickly at dinner, before leaving for the library again. I excused myself a little while later, remembering my appointment with Malfoy.

Shouldering my satchel stuffed full with homework, I hurried to the library.

The library was big, but I still thought it was unusual how I couldn't seem to find Hermione anywhere. Her visits to the library usually included roaming around the whole place, inspecting shelves at random for interesting books, then returning to a table when her arms couldn't hold anymore books. Oh well. Perhaps she didn't stay long today.

I settled myself comfortably at an empty desk, pulling out a blank piece of parchment and my Magical Drafts and Potions book.

"Selwyn," a voice drawled from above me. "You're late."

"Hello, to you too, partner," I rolled my eyes. "By ten minutes. I'm afraid not all of us are pasty-faced vampires who don't have to eat. By the way, I'm sure Parkinson will be more than willing to offer her blood to you. But obviously, you know that." I flashed him a cheeky grin.

"Bugger off," Malfoy glowered at me.

"Can't, unfortunately," I sighed. "But since we're stuck with each other, I thought I'd might as well make your time with me miserable." He glared, before sitting in the seat across from mine.

"Let's just get this over with," he growled.

Surprisingly, studying with Malfoy wasn't too bad. I had expected him to be slacking off and making me do all the work. But he was actually actively contributing to our project.

Someone was shaking my shoulder insistently.

"Ms. Selwyn!"

"Huh?" I peeled my face off my textbook and looked up blearily. Madam Pince, the Hogwarts librarian, was staring concernedly at me.

"You both fell asleep, dear," she shook her head disapprovingly. "You should pack up, curfew's in half an hour." I raised a questioning brow. Merlin, had we been working that long?

My eyes flicked across the table. Malfoy was asleep, head atop his folded arms. His pointed features didn't look as sharp as when he was awake, sneering at everyone who displeased him. He looked peaceful, unguarded. Well, well. If he could ever bring himself to look this way when while awake, maybe he did still have a soul.

"Malfoy," I reached across the table to poke him. " _Malfoy_." He groaned softly, refusing to stir. "Wake up," I hissed.

He mumbled something under his breath, then grabbed my hand from his shoulder. I froze. Even asleep, his grip was surprisingly strong. I yanked my hand out of his and smacked his head lightly.

His head jerked up abruptly, eyes darting around in confusion before settling on me.

"What time is it?" Even the ice-cold side of my heart I usually saved for gits like Malfoy couldn't help but melt a little at the sound of his voice, husky from sleep. Oh, snap out of it, I told myself, appalled. _Stupid teenage hormones._

"Thirty minutes to 10," I said, shoving my things into my satchel. Thank Merlin we had, at least, finished our project.

Just as we parted ways at the staircase, Malfoy gave me a look I couldn't quite fathom.

"See you, Selwyn."

My lips curled up in a slight smile.

"Goodnight, Malfoy."

Well, he certainly seemed more agreeable after a nap. Not unlike a baby. I snorted to myself, yawning tiredly, as I finally snuggled into the covers of my bed.

* * *

 **i feel like the last part was rushed.**

 **so i've been editing bits here and there the past few days, not much though. but i think i might need an editor, or...beta reader, is it? i think i'll do that, as soon as i'm free enough to stalk the beta readers.**

 **OMG I WATCHED DOCTOR STRANGE LAST WEEKEND AND IT. WAS. FANTASTIC. CUMBERBATCH IS BAE ABSOLUTUS, I SWEAR. ALSO I'M SUPER PUMPED FOR INFINITY WAR ASDFSQHKVFDI**

 **AAAAAND in other news...**

 **LokeLeo i think you might be my new fav person on FF. thanks SO MUCH for your support, and i'm glad you like it! i was worried that their conflicting feelings might be too complicated to work, but hey, if someone thinks it's believable... :D**

 **okay end of author's note. thanks y'all for reading, and have a great day, alright?**

 **catastropherika xo**


	10. Chapter 10

"What's this?" I frowned, fingering the purple badge bearing the letters S.P.E.W. I found on my bed the next morning. "What's spew?"

"It's the Society for the Promotion of Elvish Warfare," Hermione corrected from her side of the room we shared with Parvati Patil, another Gryffindor in our year. There was a box on her bed, which I assumed was filled with similar badges. "Two sickles to join," she said proudly. "It buys a badge, and the rest goes to funding leaflets for the campaign."

"Er—Hermione, I told you. House elves like their work. Releasing them will only make them unhappy and jobless. They're happy where they are right now," I said. Hermione scowled.

"How do you know? It's not as if anyone has thought to ask them what they think."

"Precisely," I climbed out of my bed. "What if they don't want to be freed? We could ask them and see what they think. By the way, can I take a different color? Purple looks horrible on me." She sighed heavily, but handed me the box.

"Thanks," I grinned, exchanging my purple badge for a blue one. "Matches my eyes better, don't you think?" I gave her a wink. Hermione rolled her eyes in fond exasperation, but the look on her face became serious.

"Harry got a letter last night from Sirius," she said in a low voice, glancing around her shoulder to check that Parvati was still in the toilet. "He's planning to come back." My eyes widened.

"What? Why?" I asked in alarm.

"Harry wrote to him to say his scar had been hurting, and now he think it's his fault Sirius is deciding to risk his life to return here."

/

"You're a right tosser, Harry," I grumbled, later at breakfast, after grabbing the now quite crumpled letter Sirius had sent him. "See, he says here that ' _This news about your scar is the latest in a series of strange rumors that have reached me here._ ' Other things are happening too. It isn't entirely because of you."

"Anyway, that was a lie, Harry," continued Hermione, in reference to the letter he had sent hastily to Sirius to reassure him that his scar hurting was likely his imagination. "You didn't imagine your scar hurting and you know it."

"So what?" said Harry. "He's not going back to Azkaban because of me."

"Drop it," said Ron sharply to Hermione as she opened her mouth to argue some more. Hermione and I exchanged a glance, and neither of us said anything more about it.

Meanwhile, classes were becoming more intense, particularly Professor Moody's Defense Against the Dark Arts. He had announced that he was going to put the Imperius curse on each of us, so we would know what it felt like and learn to resist it. None of us, except Harry, even got close to doing just that. My toes were still aching from being Imperiused to dance.

And then Professor McGonagall had to add to our exasperation by telling us that they were preparing us for our Ordinary Wizarding Levels, which we weren't going to take until next year anyway.

Divination was alright, I was doing well, with my mediocre predictions entirely copied from textbooks. Harry and Ron fared better, having filled their predictions with the worst catastrophes they could make up. To everyone's immense amusement, Professor Trelawney was so pleased with them that she asked them to do the same thing the next month.

Professor Binns, the ghost who taught History of Magic, had us writing weekly essays on the goblin rebellions of the eighteenth century. It was especially tedious for me, because I detested history. Professor Snape was forcing us to research antidotes. He hinted that he might be poisoning one of us before Christmas to see if our antidote worked, so we all took this one seriously. None of us were taking any chances. Professor Flitwick had asked us to read three extra books in preparation for our lesson on Summoning Charms, which Hermione had already done, the brainiac.

Even Hagrid was adding to our workload. Despite the fact that he had yet to discover what his Blast-Ended Skrewts ate, they had been growing at a fast pace. Delighted, he suggested that we come down to his hut on alternate evenings to observe them and make notes on their behavior. Well, as long as I didn't have to touch them again…

"I will not," said Draco Malfoy flatly, at Hagrid's proposal. "I see enough of these foul things during lessons, thanks."

"Yeh'll do wha' yer told," Hagrid had growled, "or I'll be takin' a leaf outta Professor Moody's book...I hear yeh made a good ferret, Malfoy."

Malfoy flushed with anger as we erupted in laughter, but apparently the memory of Moody's punishment was still sufficiently painful to stop him from retorting.

When we arrived in the entrance hall at the end of the lesson, we found themselves unable to proceed owing to the large crowd of students congregated there, all milling around a large sign that had been erected at the foot of the marble staircase. Ron stood on tiptoe to see over the heads in front of them and read the sign aloud to us:

TRIWIZARD TOURNAMENT THE DELEGATIONS FROM BEAUXBATONS AND DURMSTRANG WILL BE ARRIVING AT 6 O'CLOCK ON FRIDAY THE 30TH OF OCTOBER. LESSONS WILL END HALF AN HOUR EARLY—"Brilliant!" said Harry. "It's Potions last thing on Friday! Snape won't have time to poison us all!"

STUDENTS WILL RETURN THEIR BAGS AND BOOKS TO THEIR DORMITORIES AND ASSEMBLE IN FRONT OF THE CASTLE TO GREET OUR GUESTS BEFORE THE WELCOMING FEAST.

"Only a week away!" said Ernie Macmillan, a Hufflepuff in our year, emerging from the crowd, his eyes gleaming. "I wonder if Cedric knows? Think I'll go and tell him..."

"Cedric?" said Ron blankly as Ernie hurried off.

"Diggory," said Harry. "He must be entering the tournament."

"That idiot, Hogwarts champion?" said Ron as they pushed their way through the chattering crowd toward the staircase.

"He's not an idiot. You just don't like him because he beat Gryffindor at Quidditch," said Hermione. "I've heard he's a really good student—and he's a prefect." She spoke as though this settled the matter.

"You only like him because he's handsome," said Ron scathingly.

"He _is_ handsome, isn't he?" I grinned.

"Excuse me, I don't like people just because they're handsome!" said Hermione indignantly.

Ron gave a loud false cough, which sounded oddly like "Lockhart!" I snorted in disgust. Lockhart was our Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher in year two, and egotistical man who somehow managed to get half of the girls in love with him. Fortunately, I hadn't been one of them. Unfortunately, it was because I had a regrettably unrequited crush on Oliver Wood, the Gryffindor Quidditch captain, at the time.

The appearance of the sign in the entrance hall had a marked effect upon the inhabitants of the castle. During the following week, there seemed to be only one topic of conversation: the Triwizard Tournament. Rumors were flying from student to student like highly contagious germs: who was going to try for Hogwarts champion, what the tournament would involve, how the students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang differed from themselves.

The castle, too, seemed to be undergoing an extra-thorough cleaning. Several grimy portraits had been scrubbed, much to the displeasure of their subjects, who sat huddled in their frames muttering darkly and wincing as they felt their raw pink faces. The suits of armor were suddenly gleaming and moving without squeaking, and Argus Filch, the caretaker, was behaving so ferociously to any students who forgot to wipe their shoes that he terrified a pair of first-year girls into hysterics.

Other members of the staff seemed oddly tense too.

"Longbottom, kindly do not reveal that you can't even perform a simple Switching Spell in front of anyone from Durmstrang!" Professor McGonagall barked at the end of one particularly difficult lesson, during which Neville had accidentally transplanted his own ears onto a cactus.

When we went down to breakfast on the morning of the thirtieth of October, we found that the Great Hall had been decorated overnight. Enormous silk banners hung from the walls, each of them representing a Hogwarts House: red with a gold lion for Gryffindor, blue with a bronze eagle for Ravenclaw, yellow with a black badger for Hufflepuff, and green with a silver serpent for Slytherin. Behind the teachers' table, the largest banner of all bore the Hogwarts coat of arms: lion, eagle, badger, and snake united around a large letter H.

"It's a bummer, all right," George was saying gloomily to Fred, as we walked over to sit by them. "But if he won't talk to us in person, we'll have to send him the letter after all. Or we'll stuff it into his hand. He can't avoid us forever.

"Who's avoiding you?" said Ron, sitting down next to them.

"Wish you would," said Fred, looking irritated at the interruption.

"What's a bummer?" Ron asked George.

"Having a nosy git like you for a brother," said George.

"You two got any ideas on the Triwizard Tournament yet?" Harry asked. "Thought any more about trying to enter?"

"I asked McGonagall how the champions are chosen but she wasn't telling," said George bitterly. "She just told me to shut up and get on with transfiguring my raccoon."

"Wonder what the tasks are going to be?" said Ron thoughtfully. "You know, I bet we could do them, Harry. We've done dangerous stuff before..."

"Not in front of a panel of judges, you haven't," said Fred. "McGonagall says the champions get awarded points according to how well they've done the tasks."

"Who are the judges?" Harry asked.

"Well, the Heads of the participating schools are always on the panel," said Hermione, and everyone looked around at her, rather surprised, "because all three of them were injured during the Tournament of 1792, when a cockatrice the champions were supposed to be catching went on the rampage."

She noticed all of us looking at her and said, with her usual air of impatience that nobody else had read all the books she had, "It's all in Hogwarts, A History. Though, of course, that book's not entirely reliable. A Revised History of Hogwarts would be a more accurate title. Or A Highly Biased and Selective History of Hogwarts, Which Glosses Over the Nastier Aspects of the School."

"What are you on about?" said Ron.

"House elves!" said Hermione, her eyes flashing. I stifled an exasperated sigh. "Not once, in over a thousand pages, does Hogwarts, A History mention that we are all colluding in the oppression of a hundred slaves!"

Harry, Ron, and I had paid two sickles for a S.P.E.W. badge, if only to keep her quiet. Our Sickles had been wasted, however. If anything, they seemed to have made Hermione more vociferous. She had been badgering us since, first to wear the badges, then to persuade others to do the same, and she had also taken to rattling around the Gryffindor common room every evening, cornering people and shaking the collecting tin under their noses.

"You do realize that your sheets are changed, your fires lit, your classrooms cleaned, and your food cooked by a group of magical creatures who are unpaid and enslaved?" she kept saying fiercely.

Some people, like Neville, had paid up just to stop Hermione from glowering at them. A few seemed mildly interested in what she had to say, but were reluctant to take a more active role in campaigning. Many regarded the whole thing as a joke.

Ron now rolled his eyes at the ceiling, which was flooding them all in autumn sunlight, and Fred became extremely interested in his bacon (both twins had refused to buy a S.P.E.W. badge). George, however, leaned in toward Hermione.

"Listen, have you ever been down in the kitchens, Hermione?"

"No, of course not," said Hermione curtly, "I hardly think students are supposed to—"

"Well, we have," said George, indicating Fred, "loads of times, to nick food. And we've met them, and they're happy. They think they've got the best job in the world—"

"That's because they're uneducated and brainwashed!" Hermione began hotly, but her next few words were drowned out by the sudden whooshing noise from overhead, which announced the arrival of the post owls. After untying my usual mail from Malachi's leg, I looked up to see Harry pulling a letter off Hedwig's leg. Checking that Fred and George were safely immersed in further discussions about the Triwizard Tournament, Harry read out Sirius's letter in a whisper to us.

 _Nice try, Harry._

 _I'm back in the country and well hidden. I want you to keep me posted on everything that's going on at Hogwarts. Don't use Hedwig, keep changing owls, and don't worry about me, just watch out for yourself Don't forget what I said about your scar._

 _Sirius_

"Why d'you have to keep changing owls?" Ron asked in a low voice.

"Hedwig'll attract too much attention," said Hermione at once. "She stands out. A snowy owl that keeps returning to wherever he's hiding...I mean, they're not native birds, are they?"

Harry rolled up the letter and slipped it inside his robes. "Thanks, Hedwig," he said, stroking her. She hooted sleepily, dipped her beak briefly into his goblet of orange juice, then took off again, clearly desperate for a good long sleep in the Owlery.

* * *

 **alright, here's a really short chapter, without Draco, unfortunately. i've written quite a few chapters ahead already, just haven't edited them, and some of them don't have Draco either. i just feel like i don't want this fic to be purely focused on the Dramille romance, if that makes sense? because i'm a sucker for strong, independent female protagonists, okay.**

 **anyways, as some chapters are basically just parts of the original book, i may update, say, two chapters in one go or something.**

 **also, i've realized that i'm falling a tad bit behind in my work because i've been procrastinating to write this. so far, i've been updating almost every day, and i think that's going to have to slow down.**

 **thanks for your support so far, though! i really appreciate it :)**

 **yours' truly,**

 **catastropherika xo**


	11. Chapter 11

There was a pleasant feeling of anticipation in the air that day. Nobody was very attentive in lessons, being much more interested in the arrival that evening of the people from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang.

They arrived during dinner. Filch run up to Dumbledore at the teachers' table and whispered something into his ear. Professor Dumbledore nodded, then stood, clearing his throat. The usual chatter in the Great Hall was silenced at once.

"Please join me in welcoming the lovely ladies of the Beauxbatons Academy of magic and their headmistress Madame Maxime," he announced, waving his hand toward the doors. The doors burst open, and a group of very pretty girls in identical blue dresses danced down the aisle, releasing butterflies into the air. I joined in the applause that rang around the Hall, raising a suspicious brow as I noticed the boys around me gaping at them with dazed looks in their eyes. Well, boys will be boys.

"Blimey, that's one big woman," someone said. I stifled a giggle. Unlike the Beauxbatons girls, their headmistress was rather...large. Almost giant.

"And now our friends from the north, please greet the proud sons of Durmstrang and the high master Igor Karkaroff!" A series of boys in fur cloaks marched up the aisle brandishing bo staffs, twirling them around and periodically stabbing them into the ground with a spark effect.

"Merlin," I breathed, lips curling into a smirk. They _were_ a good looking bunch. Very good looking boys who were going to be in our school _the whole year_.

"I'm snagging one," I murmured, leaning over to Hermione, pleased to see she was, too, captivated. Fantastic. Perhaps she would even get a boyfriend this year instead of sticking to her books.

A particularly cute one with dark hair and pretty blue eyes caught my gaze and winked at me, smirking slightly. My eyes widened in surprise, before I returned a grin and a wink of my own.

"Blimey it's him, Viktor Krum!" Ron exclaimed, gawking at the one marching in front.

"No!" I gasped, reaching over Hermione to push his head aside for a better look. "Hold me," I muttered, grabbing the closest hand. "This is the best day of my life."

It was one of the twins, Fred's, I think. He clutched my hand tighter. "Pinch me, I'm dreaming." So I did. "Ow!" he released my hand abruptly to rub at the sore spot, glaring at me. I stifled a snort.

Just as I thought the Durmstrang boys couldn't get any hotter, some of them breathed fire from their wands, and I just about swooned.

"I can't believe it!" Ron said in a stunned voice. "It's Krum, Harry! Viktor Krum!"

"For heavens' sake, Ron, he's only a Quidditch player," Hermione rolled her eyes.

Everyone in hearing distance managed to pull their gazes away from Krum for a moment to shoot her disbelieving looks.

" _Only_ a Quidditch player?" Ron exclaimed, looking at her as though he couldn't believe his ears. "Hermione—he's one of the best Seekers in the world! I had no idea he was still at school!"

"Oh I don't believe it, I haven't got a single quill on me—"

"D'you think he'd sign my hat in lipstick?"

"Really," Hermione said loftily as we passed the girls, now squabbling over the lipstick.

"I'm getting his autograph if I can," said Ron. "You haven't got a quill, have you, Harry? Camille?" I shook my head.

"Nope, they're upstairs in my bag," said Harry. I hissed in disappointment as the Durmstrang boys chose to sit at the Slytherin table, even as the Beauxbatons girls gravitated to the Ravenclaws. Malfoy was looking very smug, as he bent forward to speak to Krum.

"Yeah, that's right, smarm up to him, Malfoy," said Ron scathingly. "I bet Krum can see right through him, though...bet he gets people fawning over him all the time...Where d'you reckon they're going to sleep? We could offer him a space in our dormitory, Harry...I wouldn't mind giving him my bed, I could kip on a camp bed." Hermione snorted. Okay, he was going a tad bit too far now.

"They look a lot happier than the Beauxbatons lot," said Harry. The Durmstrang students were pulling off their heavy furs and looking up at the starry black ceiling with expressions of interest. A couple of them were picking up the golden plates and goblets and examining them, apparently impressed.

"But there are only two extra people," Harry said, noticing Filch adding four chairs to the staff table. "Why's Filch putting out four chairs, who else is coming?"

"Eh?" said Ron vaguely. He was still staring avidly at Krum.

"Mmm," I hummed absentmindedly in response, eyes darting around the Slytherin table discreetly to look for the boy who had caught my attention earlier. Ooh, there he was! And...he was looking right at me. I averted my eyes quickly, but not before I saw his smile widen in amusement. Oh, Godric.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, ghosts and—most particularly—guests," said Dumbledore, beaming around at the foreign students. "I have great pleasure in welcoming you all to Hogwarts. I hope and trust that your stay here will be both comfortable and enjoyable."

One of the Beauxbatons girls still clutching a muffler around her head gave what was unmistakably a derisive laugh.

"No one's making you stay!" Hermione whispered, bristling at her.

"Weaklings," I muttered with a slight sneer, watching some of them clutch scarves and shawls around their heads. "It isn't even that cold."

"The tournament will be officially opened at the end of the feast," said Dumbledore. "I now invite you all to eat, drink, and make yourselves at home!"

"Oooh, yes!" I rubbed my hands in glee as our plates filled with food. It seemed like the house elves hadn't spared any effort today. There was a greater variety of dishes in front of us, including many foreign ones I had never seen.

"What's that?" said Ron, pointing at a large dish of some sort of shellfish stew that stood beside a large steak-and-kidney pudding.

"Bouillabaisse," said Hermione.

"Bless you," said Ron.

"It's French," said Hermione, "I had it on holiday summer before last. It's very nice."

"I'll take your word for it," said Ron, helping himself to black pudding.

Hagrid sidled into the Hall through a door behind the staff table twenty minutes after the start of the feast. He slid into his seat at the end and waved at us with a very heavily bandaged hand.

"Skrewts doing all right, Hagrid?" Harry called.

"Thrivin'," Hagrid called back happily.

"Yeah, I'll just bet they are," said Ron quietly. "Looks like they've finally found a food they like, doesn't it? Hagrid's fingers."

At that moment, a voice said, "Excuse me, are you wanting ze bouillabaisse?"

It was the girl from Beauxbatons who had laughed during Dumbledore's speech. She had finally removed her muffler. A long sheet of silvery-blonde hair fell almost to her waist. She had large, deep blue eyes, and very white, even teeth.

Ron went purple. He stared up at her, opened his mouth to reply, but nothing came out except a faint gurgling noise. I sniggered in disbelief.

"Yeah, have it," said Harry, pushing the dish toward the girl.

"You 'ave finished wiz it?"

"Yeah," Ron said breathlessly. "Yeah, it was excellent."

The girl picked up the dish and carried it carefully off to the Ravenclaw table. Ron was still goggling at the girl as though he had never seen one before. Harry started to laugh. The sound seemed to jog Ron back to his senses.

"She's a veela!" he said hoarsely to Harry.

"Of course she isn't!" said Hermione tartly. "I don't see anyone else gaping at her like an idiot!"

But she wasn't entirely right about that. As the girl crossed the Hall, many boys' heads turned, and some of them seemed to have become temporarily speechless, just like Ron.

"I'm telling you, that's not a normal girl!" said Ron, leaning sideways so he could keep a clear view of her. "They don't make them like that at Hogwarts!"

"They make them okay at Hogwarts," said Harry without thinking. I raised a curious brow.

"When you've both put your eyes back in," said Hermione briskly, "you'll be able to see who's just arrived." Well, someone sounds jealous.

I followed her pointing finger up at the staff table. The two remaining empty seats had just been filled. Ludo Bagman was now sitting on Professor Karkaroff's other side, while Mr. Crouch, Percy's boss, was next to Madame Maxime.

"What are they doing here?" said Harry in surprise.

"They organized the Triwizard Tournament, didn't they?" said Hermione. "I suppose they wanted to be here to see it start."

When the second course arrived we noticed a number of unfamiliar desserts too. Ron examined an odd sort of pale blancmange closely, then moved it carefully a few inches to his right, so that it would be clearly visible from the Ravenclaw table. The girl who looked like a veela appeared to have eaten enough, however, and did not come over to get it.

Once the golden plates had been wiped clean, Dumbledore stood up again. A pleasant sort of tension seemed to fill the Hall now.

"The moment has come," said Dumbledore, smiling around at the sea of upturned faces. "The Triwizard Tournament is about to start. I would like to say a few words of explanation before we bring in the casket—"

"The what?" Harry muttered. Ron shrugged.

"—just to clarify the procedure that we will be following this year. But first, let me introduce, for those who do not know them, Mr. Bartemius Crouch, Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation" —there was a smattering of polite applause— "and Mr. Ludo Bagman, Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports."

There was a much louder round of applause for Bagman than for Crouch. He acknowledged it with a jovial wave of his hand. Bartemius Crouch did not smile or wave when his name was announced.

"Mr. Bagman and Mr. Crouch have worked tirelessly over the last few months on the arrangements for the Triwizard Tournament," Dumbledore continued, "and they will be joining myself, Professor Karkaroff, and Madame Maxime on the panel that will judge the champions' efforts."

At the mention of the word "champions," the attentiveness of the listening students seemed to sharpen. Perhaps Dumbledore had noticed their sudden stillness, for he smiled as he said, "The casket, then, if you please, Mr. Filch."

Filch, who had been lurking unnoticed in a far corner of the Hall, now approached Dumbledore carrying a great wooden chest encrusted with jewels. It looked extremely old. A murmur of excited interest rose from the watching students.

"The instructions for the tasks the champions will face this year have already been examined by Mr. Crouch and Mr. Bagman," said Dumbledore as Filch placed the chest carefully on the table before him, "and they have made the necessary arrangements for each challenge. There will be three tasks, spaced throughout the school year, and they will test the champions in many different ways...their magical prowess—their daring—their powers of deduction—and, of course, their ability to cope with danger.

"As you know, three champions compete in the tournament," Dumbledore went on calmly, "one from each of the participating schools. They will be marked on how well they perform each of the Tournament tasks and the champion with the highest total after task three will win the Triwizard Cup. The champions will be chosen by an impartial selector: the Goblet of Fire."

Dumbledore now took out his wand and tapped three times upon the top of the casket. The lid creaked slowly open. Dumbledore reached inside it and pulled out a large, roughly hewn wooden cup filled to the brim with dancing blue-white flames.

"Anybody wishing to submit themselves as champion must write their name and school clearly upon a slip of parchment and drop it into the goblet," said Dumbledore. "Aspiring champions have twenty-four hours in which to put their names forward. Tomorrow night, Halloween, the goblet will return the names of the three it has judged most worthy to represent their schools. The goblet will be placed in the entrance hall tonight, where it will be freely accessible to all those wishing to compete."

"To ensure that no underage student yields to temptation," said Dumbledore, "I will be drawing an Age Line around the Goblet of Fire once it has been placed in the entrance hall. Nobody under the age of seventeen will be able to cross this line."

"Finally, I wish to impress upon any of you wishing to compete that this tournament is not to be entered into lightly. Once a champion has been selected by the Goblet of Fire, he or she is obliged to see the tournament through to the end. The placing of your name in the goblet constitutes a binding, magical contract. There can be no change of heart once you have become a champion. Please be very sure, therefore, that you are wholeheartedly prepared to play before you drop your name into the goblet. Now, I think it is time for bed. Good night to you all."

"An Age Line!" Fred Weasley said, his eyes glinting, as they all made their way across the Hall to the doors into the entrance hall. "Well, that should be fooled by an Aging Potion, shouldn't it? And once your name's in that goblet, you're laughing—it can't tell whether you're seventeen or not!"

"But I don't think anyone under seventeen will stand a chance," said Hermione, "we just haven't learned enough..."

"Speak for yourself," said George shortly. "You'll try and get in, won't you, Harry?" Harry didn't answer.

"Where is he?" said Ron, peering absentmindedly through the crowd. "Dumbledore didn't say where the Durmstrang people are sleeping, did he?"

"Back to the ship, then," we overheard Karkaroff saying as we passed the Slytherin table. "Viktor, how are you feeling? Did you eat enough? Should I send for some mulled wine from the kitchens?"

Krum shook his head as he pulled his furs back on. "Professor, I vood like some vine," said one of the other Durmstrang boys hopefully.

"I wasn't offering it to you, Poliakoff," snapped Karkaroff, his warmly paternal air vanishing in an instant. "I notice you have dribbled food all down the front of your robes again, disgusting boy—"

Karkaroff turned and led his students toward the doors, reaching them at exactly the same moment as us. Harry stepped aside to let him through first.

"Thank you," said Karkaroff carelessly, casting barely a glance at us. And then Karkaroff froze. He turned his head back to Harry and stared at him as though he couldn't believe his eyes.

Behind their headmaster, the students from Durmstrang came to a halt too. Karkaroff's eyes moved slowly up Harry's face and fixed upon his scar.

"Yeah, that's Harry Potter," said a growling voice from behind.

Professor Karkaroff spun around. Mad-Eye Moody was standing there, leaning heavily on his staff, his magical eye glaring unblinkingly at the Durmstrang headmaster.

"You!" he said, staring at Moody as though unsure he was really seeing him.

"Me," said Moody grimly. "And unless you've got anything to say to Potter, Karkaroff, you might want to move. You're blocking the doorway."

Truly, half the students in the Hall were now waiting behind, looking over one another's shoulders to see what was causing the holdup.

Without another word, Professor Karkaroff swept his students away with him. Moody watched him until he was out of sight, face twisted with intense dislike. Now, _that_ was a fun way to end the evening.

* * *

 **sorta filler without Draco, but had to introduce the Durmstrang and Beauxbatons students. notice i followed the movie here instead of the book. i'll be doing that from time to time, but i generally prefer what the books say.**

 **ayyyy, that cute Durmstrang boy though ;)**

 **LokeLeo that's sweet of you :D thanks! i find myself using that excuse a lot, but usually when i'm working on my original stories. i feel like fics are easier because you're mostly using someone else's world and characters. i think it HELPS my writer's block, in fact. but that might just be me:)**

 **anywaaaays, i hope y'all are enjoying this so far!**

 **catastropherika xo**


	12. Chapter 12

The next day was Saturday, and most of us would normally sleep in. But obviously, all of us were up bright and early.

Having grabbed a piece of toast from the our table at the Great Hall, I hurried back to join my friends at the entrance hall, where students were already gathering to examine the Goblet of Fire. It had been placed in the middle of the hall. A thin golden line had been traced around the cup, forming a large circle.

"Anyone put their name in yet?" Ron asked a third-year girl eagerly.

"All the Durmstrang lot," she replied. "But I haven't seen anyone from Hogwarts yet." _Damn it. We missed them._

"Bet some of them put it in last night after we'd all gone to bed," said Harry. "I would've if it had been me...wouldn't have wanted everyone watching. What if the goblet just gobbed you right back out again?"

Someone laughed loudly behind us. Turning, we saw Fred, George, and Lee Jordan hurrying down the staircase, all three of them looking extremely excited.

"Done it," Fred said in a triumphant whisper. "Just taken it."

"What?" said Ron.

"The Aging Potion, dung brains," said Fred.

"You're kidding," I grinned. "I didn't think you were actually serious about it."

"We are," George waggled a small bottle of potion at my face. "Want to try?" I shook my head.

"Let's see if you can get through first, yes?"

"Have it your way," he shrugged, pocketing the bottle.

"We're going to split the thousand Galleons between the three of us if one of us wins," said Lee, grinning broadly.

"I'm not sure this is going to work, you know," said Hermione warningly. "I'm sure Dumbledore will have thought of this."

Fred, George, and Lee ignored her.

"Ready?" Fred said to the other two, quivering with excitement. "C'mon, then—I'll go first—"

Fred walked right up to the edge of the line. Then, with the eyes of every person in the entrance hall upon him, he took a great breath and stepped over the line.

For a split second I thought it had worked—George certainly thought so, for he let out a yell of triumph and leapt after Fred—but next moment, there was a loud sizzling sound, and both twins were hurled out of the golden circle, landing them ten feet away on the cold stone floor. With a loud popping noise, both of them sprouted identical long white beards. The entrance hall erupted in laughter.

"I did warn you," said a deep, amused voice, and everyone turned to see Professor Dumbledore coming out of the Great Hall. He surveyed Fred and George, his eyes twinkling. "I suggest you both go up to Madam Pomfrey. She is already tending to Miss Fawcett, of Ravenclaw, and Mr. Summers, of Hufflepuff, both of whom decided to age themselves up a little too. Though I must say, neither of their beards is anything like as fine as yours."

Fred and George set off for the hospital wing, accompanied by Lee, who was howling with laughter. Still chuckling, the rest of us went to breakfast.

The decorations in the Great Hall had changed this morning. As it was Halloween, a cloud of live bats was fluttering around the enchanted ceiling, while hundreds of carved pumpkins leered from every corner. Harry led the way over to Dean and Seamus, who were discussing those Hogwarts students of seventeen or over who might be entering.

"There's a rumor going around that Warrington got up early and put his name in," Dean told Harry. "That big bloke from Slytherin who looks like a sloth."

"We can't have a Slytherin champion!"

"And all the Hufflepuffs are talking about Diggory," said Seamus contemptuously. "But I wouldn't have thought he'd have wanted to risk his good looks."

"You're just jealous," I elbowed him, scoffing.

"Listen!" said Hermione suddenly. People were cheering out in the entrance hall. We swiveled around in their seats and saw Angelina Johnson coming into the Hall, grinning in an embarrassed sort of way. She was a tall black girl who played on the Gryffindor Quidditch team, a fellow Chaser.

"Well, I've done it! Just put my name in!" Angelina came and sat next to us.

"You're kidding!" said Ron, looking impressed.

"Are you seventeen, then?" asked Harry.

"Course she is, can't see a beard, can you?" said Ron.

"I had my birthday last week," said Angelina.

"Congrats, Angie," I gave her a genuine smile.

"Well, I'm glad someone from Gryffindor's entering," said Hermione. "I really hope you get it, Angelina!"

"Thanks," said Angelina, grinning at us.

"Yeah, better you than Pretty-Boy Diggory, said Seamus, causing several Hufflepuffs passing our table to scowl heavily at him.

"What're we going to do today, then?" Ron asked, when we had finished breakfast and were leaving the Great Hall.

"We haven't been down to visit Hagrid yet," said Harry.

"Okay," said Ron, "just as long as he doesn't ask us to donate a few fingers to the skrewts." A look of great excitement suddenly dawned on Hermione's face.

"I've just realized—I haven't asked Hagrid to join S.P.E.W. yet!" she said brightly.

"Wait for me, will you, while I nip upstairs and get the badges?"

"What is it with her?" said Ron, exasperated, as Hermione ran away up the marble staircase.

"Hey, Ron," said Harry suddenly. "It's your friend..."

The students from Beauxbatons were coming through the front doors from the grounds, among them, the veela-girl. Those gathered around the Goblet of Fire stood back to let them pass, watching eagerly.

Madame Maxime entered the hall behind her students and organized them into a line. One by one, the Beauxbatons students stepped across the Age Line and dropped their slips of parchment into the blue-white flames. As each name entered the fire, it turned briefly red and emitted sparks.

"What d'you reckon'll happen to the ones who aren't chosen?" Ron muttered to Harry as the veela-girl dropped her parchment into the Goblet of Fire. "Reckon they'll go back to school, or hang around to watch the tournament?"

"Dunno," said Harry. "Hang around, I suppose...Madame Maxime's staying to judge, isn't she?"

When all the Beauxbatons students had submitted their names, Madame Maxime led them back out of the hall and out onto the grounds again.

"Where are they sleeping, then?" said Ron, moving toward the front doors and staring after them.

A loud rattling noise behind us announced Hermione's reappearance with the box of S. P. E.W. badges.

"Oh good, hurry up," said Ron, and he jumped down the stone steps, keeping his eyes on the back of the veela-girl, who was now halfway across the lawn with Madame Maxime.

"Someone's excited," I nudged Harry, trying not to laugh.

As we neared Hagrid's cabin on the edge of the Forbidden Forest, the mystery of the Beauxbatons' sleeping quarters was solved. A gigantic powder-blue carriage in which I assumed they had arrived had been parked two hundred yards from Hagrid's front door, and the students were climbing back inside it. Elephantine flying horses were now grazing in a makeshift paddock alongside it.

Harry knocked on Hagrid's door, and Fang's booming barks answered instantly.

"Bout time!" said Hagrid, when he'd flung open the door. "Thought you lot'd forgotten where I live!"

"We've been really busy, Hag—" Hermione started to say, but then she stopped dead, looking up at Hagrid, apparently lost for words.

Hagrid was wearing his best (and very horrible) hairy brown suit, plus a checked yellow-and-orange tie. Even better (or worse), he had evidently tried to tame his hair, using large quantities of what appeared to be axle grease. It was now slicked down into two bunches—perhaps he had tried a ponytail like Bill's, but found he had too much hair. The look didn't really suit Hagrid at all.

Oh dear. I let out a strangled squeak in a pathetic attempt to suppress my amusement. For a moment, Hermione goggled at him, then, obviously deciding not to comment, she said, "Erm—where are the skrewts?"

"Out by the pumpkin patch," said Hagrid happily. "They're get-tin' massive, mus' be nearly three foot long now. On'y trouble is, they've started killin' each other."

"Oh no, really?" said Hermione, shooting a repressive look at Ron, who, staring at Hagrid's odd hairstyle, had just opened his mouth to say something about it.

"Yeah," said Hagrid sadly. "S' okay, though, I've got 'em in separate boxes now. Still got abou' twenty."

"Well, that's lucky," said Ron. Hagrid missed the sarcasm.

Hagrid's cabin comprised a single room, in one corner of which was a gigantic bed covered in a patchwork quilt. A similarly enormous wooden table and chairs stood in front of the fire beneath the quantity of cured hams and dead birds hanging from the ceiling. We sat down at the table while Hagrid started to make tea, and were soon immersed in yet more discussion of the Triwizard Tournament. Hagrid seemed quite as excited about it as we were.

"You wait," he said, grinning. "You jus' wait. Yer going ter see some stuff yeh've never seen before. Firs' task...ah, but I'm not supposed ter say."

"Go on, Hagrid!" we urged him, but he just shook his head, grinning.

"I don' want ter spoil it fer yeh," said Hagrid. "But it's gonna be spectacular, I'll tell yeh that. Them champions're going ter have their work cut out. Never thought I'd live ter see the Triwizard Tournament played again!"

We ended up having lunch with Hagrid, though we didn't eat much—Hagrid had made what he said was a beef casserole, but after Hermione unearthed a large talon in hers, we rather lost our appetites. At least we enjoyed themselves trying to make Hagrid tell us what the tasks in the tournament were going to be, speculating which of the entrants were likely to be selected as champions, and wondering whether Fred and George were beardless yet.

Unfortunately for Hermione, Hagrid flatly refused to join S.P.E.W. when she showed him her badges.

"It'd be doin' 'em an unkindness, Hermione," he said gravely, threading a massive bone needle with thick yellow yarn. "It's in their nature ter look after humans, that's what they like, see? Yeh'd be makin' 'em unhappy ter take away their work, an' insutin' 'em if yeh tried ter pay 'em." Ron and I exchanged a knowing look as they argued.

By half past five it was growing dark, and we decided to head back up to the castle. To our enormous surprise, even as he had said he would follow us, Hagrid trudged up to Madame Maxine without so much as a glance at us.

"Well, would you look at that!" I exclaimed, folding my arms.

"He fancies her!" said Ron incredulously. "Well, if they end up having children, they'll be setting a world record—bet any baby of theirs would weigh about a ton."

We let ourselves out of the cabin and shut the door behind us. It was surprisingly dark outside. Drawing their cloaks more closely around ourselves, we set off up the sloping lawns.

When we entered, the candlelit Great Hall it was almost full. The Goblet of Fire had been moved, and was now standing in front of Dumbledore's empty chair at the teachers' table. Fred and George—clean-shaven again—seemed to have taken their disappointment fairly well.

"Hope it's Angelina," said Fred as we sat down.

"So do I!" said Hermione breathlessly. "Well, we'll soon know!"

The Halloween feast seemed to take much longer than usual, even though the feasts at Hogwarts were usually my favorite parts of the day.

Finally, the golden plates returned to their original spotless state. There was a sharp upswing in the level of noise within the Hall, which died away almost instantly as Dumbledore got to his feet. On either side of him, Professor Karkaroff and Madame Maxime looked as tense and expectant as anyone. Ludo Bagman was beaming and winking at various students. Mr. Crouch, however, looked quite uninterested, almost bored.

"Well, the goblet is almost ready to make its decision," said Dumbledore. "I estimate that it requires one more minute. Now, when the champions' names are called, I would ask them please to come up to the top of the Hall, walk along the staff table, and go through into the next chamber" —he indicated the door behind the staff table— "where they will be receiving their first instructions."

He took out his wand and gave a great sweeping wave with it; at once, all the candles except those inside the carved pumpkins were extinguished, plunging them into a state of semi-darkness. The Goblet of Fire now shone more brightly than anything in the whole Hall, the sparkling bright, bluey-whiteness of the flames almost painful on the eyes.

"Any second," Lee Jordan whispered excitedly.

The flames inside the goblet turned suddenly red again. Sparks began to fly from it.

Next moment, a tongue of flame shot into the air, a charred piece of parchment fluttered out of it—the whole room gasped.

Dumbledore caught the piece of parchment and held it at arm's length, so that he could read it by the light of the flames, which had turned back to blue-white.

"The champion for Durmstrang," he read, in a strong, clear voice, "will be Viktor Krum."

"No surprises there!" yelled Ron as a storm of applause and cheering swept the Hall.

Viktor Krum rose from the Slytherin table and slouched up toward Dumbledore He turned right, walked along the staff table, and disappeared through the door into the next chamber.

"Bravo, Viktor!" boomed Karkaroff, so loudly that everyone could hear him, even over all the applause. "Knew you had it in you!"

The clapping and chatting died down. Now everyone's attention was focused again on the goblet, which, seconds later, turned red once more. A second piece of parchment shot out of it, propelled by the flames.

"The champion for Beauxbatons," said Dumbledore, "is Fleur Delacour!"

"It's her, Ron!" Harry shouted as the girl who so resembled a veela got gracefully to her feet, shook back her sheet of silvery blonde hair, and swept up between the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables.

"Oh look, they're all disappointed," Hermione said over the noise, nodding toward the remainder of the Beauxbatons party. Two of the girls who had not been selected had dissolved into tears and were sobbing with their heads on their arms. I scoffed lightly. They were taking their loss far too seriously, I thought.

When Fleur Delacour too had vanished into the side chamber, silence fell again, but this time it was a silence so stiff with excitement you could almost taste it. The Hogwarts champion next...

And the Goblet of Fire turned red once more; sparks showered out of it; the tongue of flame shot high into the air, and from its tip Dumbledore pulled the third piece of parchment.

"The Hogwarts champion," he called, "is Cedric Diggory!"

The uproar from the next table was too great. Every single Hufflepuff had jumped to his or her feet, screaming and stamping, as Cedric made his way past them, grinning broadly, and headed off toward the chamber behind the teachers' table. Indeed, the applause for Cedric went on so long that it was some time before Dumbledore could make himself heard again. I grinned and clapped along with the rest. Angelina would've been better, but Cedric wasn't too bad, I supposed.

"Excellent!" Dumbledore called happily as at last the tumult died down. "Well, we now have our three champions. I am sure I can count upon all of you, including the remaining students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, to give your champions every ounce of support you can muster. By cheering your champion on, you will contribute in a very real—"

But Dumbledore suddenly stopped speaking, and it was apparent to everybody what had distracted him.

The fire in the goblet had just turned red again. Sparks were flying out of it. A long flame shot suddenly into the air, and borne upon it was another piece of parchment.

Dumbledore reached out a long hand and seized the parchment. He held it out and stared at the name written upon it. There was a long pause, during which Dumbledore stared at the slip in his hands, and everyone in the room stared at Dumbledore. And then Dumbledore cleared his throat and read out—"Harry Potter."

The hall was silent. There was no applause. I didn't know if I had heard correctly. Everyone was staring at Harry. He turned to look at us, helpless.

"I didn't put my name in," Harry said, pleading. "You know I didn't." We stared blankly back at him.

"Harry Potter!" Dumbledore called again. "Harry! Up here, if you please!"

"Go on," Hermione whispered, giving Harry a slight push. I didn't know what to think, as I watched Harry making his way slowly to the top table. Betrayed? Maybe. Confused? Very.

Dumbledore dismissed us quickly, before hurrying into the room the champions had been told to go into. Ron stood abruptly and hurried out, without even a backwards glance. Hermione and I exchanged a worried glance, before she hastened after him. What was going on?

"Hey, Selwyn!" someone called on my way out. It was Malfoy, followed by his little posse.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" I answered shortly. He drew closer.

"How did Potter do it? Put his name in the cup, I mean?"

"He didn't tell me. Why don't you ask him yourself?" I turned away. Malfoy grabbed my wrist. My heart quickened slightly.

"Not so fast, Selwyn. You're one of his _best mates_ ," he spat. "Surely you know something."

"I told you, I don't know," I rolled my eyes, tugging my hand out of his grip. "You really can't stop touching me, can you?" I smirked, recalling Blaise's words after the first Care of Magical Creatures class. Malfoy's pale cheeks flushed lightly, stepping back hastily. Beside him, Pansy Parkinson was glaring daggers at me. "Oh dear," I murmured. "You'd better attend to your girlfriend before she attempts to murder me. Not that she'd actually be able to, obviously, but I'd rather not like to deal with her nonsense right now. _Please_?" He scowled darkly at me.

"You're a right pain in the arse, you know that?"

"I do my best," I sneered, before turning on my heel and stalking away.

By the time I reached the Gryffindor tower, everyone had clearly gotten over their shock and were celebrating loudly. Someone had gotten butterbeer and snacks from somewhere. I couldn't find Hermione and Ron anywhere amidst the crowd in the common room. Perhaps they went back to their dorms.

"Well, then," I sighed, settling down on the couch to nurse a butterbeer someone had offered to me, and to wait for Harry's return.

"Camille!" Fred yelled into my ear. I jumped, my butterbeer sloshing.

"What?" I shrieked back.

"Did Harry tell you how he did it?"

"No! He didn't!" I felt a tad bit frustrated. Why was everyone asking me how _Harry_ did it? More importantly, why hadn't he told any of us, his best friends, he was going to do it? Didn't he trust us?

The common room door swung open again, and Harry stepped in. In seconds, everyone had swarmed over to him like bees to honey, bombarding him with questions.

"I didn't," he kept repeating, over and over again, locking eyes with me, "I don't know how it happened." I couldn't get to him with everyone in the way, so I gave him a slow nod to signal that I believed him. Until proven otherwise. Harry shot me a relieved smile.

I headed upstairs to my room after a while, happy to leave the loud celebrations downstairs.

"Camille," Hermione said worriedly from her bed. "Did you talk to Harry?"

"A little, yeah. Sort of."

"Did he say why he did it?"

"I don't think he did, Hermione," I said tiredly, slipping into my bed. "Harry couldn't have fooled the Cup, or Dumbledore. Besides, the Chosen One doesn't really need any more fame than he already has, does he?"

With that, I pulled the maroon hangings around my bed shut, not wishing to start a long discussion about possibilities with Hermione right then.

* * *

 **here's a longer update because it's the weekend! yay!**

 **it's exactly 2 weeks until thanksgiving break, and i'm. so. fricking. pumped. once the 19th hits, it's all fun and games from then. like i have literally so many plans for christmas break? and i'm ignoring the fact that thanksgiving is only 1 week, and christmas, onLY 2. so i'm sparing practically no expense to make sURE CHRISTMAS IS GREAT THIS YEAR because honestly, 2016 overall was terrible. i'm sure we can all agree on that.**

 **thanks for reading if you've got this far:) i really appreciate it.**

 **catastropherika xo**


	13. Chapter 13

If life had been unpleasant for Harry when only Slytherin despised him, it got even worse when practically the whole school turned against him, thinking he had entered himself for the tournament.

Even the Hufflepuffs, _especially_ the Hufflepuffs, who were usually on good terms with us Gryffindors, had turned remarkably cold towards all of us. It was likely because they hardly got any glory, except when they beat us once at Quidditch, and Cedric was going to be their champion. Until Harry was announced to be the second Hogwarts' champion.

To everyone's horror, Hagrid announced during Care of Magical Creatures that the reason the skrewts had been killing one another was an excess of pent-up energy, and that the solution would be for each student to fix a leash on a skrewt and take it for a short walk.

"Roun' the middle," said Hagrid, demonstrating. "Er—yeh might want ter put on yer dragon-hide gloves, jus' as an extra precaution, like. Harry—you come here an' help me with this big one…" It was clever of Hagrid, who had brought Harry out of sight, likely to speak to him about the tournament, as soon as he checked the leashes on our skrewts.

The skrewts were now over three feet long, and extremely strong. No longer shell-less and colorless, they had developed a kind of thick, grayish, shiny armor, but still without recognizable heads or eyes. At least they weren't so slimy anymore.

I yelped as my skrewt shot forward with a BANG from one of its ends, pulling me along with it.

"Oof," I grunted, landing hard on the ground. Around me, the rest of my classmates seemed to be suffering the same fate. I usually liked Care of Magical Creatures, but good Godric, this was just horrid.

"Selwyn," a voice drawled from behind me as I was making my way back to the Gryffindor tower to change my dirty robes. I groaned internally and steeled myself for the usual insults.

"You _really_ can't stay away from me, can you?"

"I need your help." Come again?

"What?" I stopped abruptly. "Say that again."

"I need your help," Malfoy said tiredly.

"You need my help," I repeated blankly.

"Yes," he snapped. "Professor Sinistra told me to ask you for tuition." The last part came out as a bit of a mumble.

"Oh, speak up!" I said delightedly, my lips rising in a grin. Malfoy was asking for help. "Merlin, this is golden."

"Will you help or not?" he sighed in exasperation. "Tomorrow, midnight at the Astronomy tower?"

"I don't know, Malfoy. A clandestine meeting after curfew? This sounds an awful lot like a date," I said doubtfully, arching a brow.

"It isn't a...well, unless you want it to be, sure." A smirk was forming on his face.

"Get over yourself, you aren't _that_ good-looking," I scoffed.

"But I _am_ good-looking."

"You're incorrigible, if anything."

"Most girls would give an arm for an opportunity to spend an evening with me." Could this boy get any more arrogant? I think not.

"Funny, look who's asking who out. Besides, do I look particularly desperate to you?"

"Look," Malfoy sighed. "I'm risking my reputation by asking you for help."

"Really? Because it seems to me that I'd be tarnishing _my_ reputation if I'm seen helping you."

"Fine, whatever. You Gryffindors and your childish pettiness. I don't even know why I bothered." He ran his hand through his pale hair in frustration, turning away.

"Okay, relax," I called after him. "I was going to help. Just wanted to rile you up a bit." I couldn't very well endanger my standing as Sinistra's favorite student, could I? It was the only class I could _really_ beat Hermione at.

"Like I said, childish Gryffindor," Malfoy rolled his eyes, though the relief on his face was obvious. I frowned at him, fighting off a smile that was threatening to rise on mine.

"Do you want that O, or do you not?"

...

Meanwhile, Harry's life was only getting worse. Even as I had said I believed he didn't volunteer himself for the tournament, I wasn't entirely sure I actually did. I had avoided as much contact as I could with him for a while. But that soon ended when I realized, rather guiltily, that apart from Hermione, he really had no one standing with him.

"Hi," I muttered meekly as I sat with them the next day for the first time at breakfast. While Harry looked relieved to see me, Hermione gave me a reproachful frown.

When we arrived at Snape's dungeon for Double Potions that afternoon, we found the Slytherins waiting outside, each and every one of them wearing a large badge on the front of his or her robes. For a second, I thought they were S.P.E.W. badges. But then I noticed the blinking words on them, all saying:

SUPPORT CEDRIC DIGGORY—THE REAL HOGWARTS CHAMPION!

"Like them, Potter?" said Malfoy loudly as we approached. I wasn't even surprised he was involved. "And this isn't all they do—look!"

He pressed his badge into his chest, and the message upon it vanished, to be replaced by another one, which glowed green:

POTTER STINKS!

Oh, rats.

The Slytherins howled with laughter. Each of them pressed their badges too, until the message POTTER STINKS was shining brightly all around the dungeon. I cast a worried glance toward Harry, whose face was turning red.

"Oh, very funny," Hermione said sarcastically, glaring at Pansy Parkinson and her gang of Slytherin girls, who were laughing harder than anyone, "really witty."

Ron was standing against the wall with Dean and Seamus, not doing anything. At least he wasn't laughing.

"You're welcome to them, Selwyn. Want one too, Granger?" said Malfoy, pushing a badge into my hand, and holding another out to Hermione. "I've got loads. But don't touch my hand, now. I've just washed it, you see; don't want a Mudblood sliming it up." Merlin, this wasn't going to end well. I really didn't understand how he could act so...comparatively alright when neither of our friends were around, but behave so beastly otherwise.

Harry pulled out his wand without warning. People all around us scrambled out of the way, backing down the corridor.

"Harry!" Hermione said warningly.

"Go on, then, Potter," Malfoy said quietly, drawing out his own wand. "Moody's not here to look after you now—do it, if you've got the guts—"

'Woah, now. Stop or you'll regret it later," I warned, getting between the two of them with my own wand out just in case.

"I'm sure I won't regret this," Harry snarled.

"Get out of the way, Selwyn," Malfoy said roughly. "You don't want to get into this." I would've stayed in my position, and there was a chance nothing would've happened, if only Hermione hadn't tugged me away. I knew she meant well, but still. Everything happened in a flash.

"Funnunculus!" Harry yelled.

"Densaugeo!" screamed Malfoy.

Jets of light shot from both wands, hit each other in midair, and ricocheted off at angles—Harry's hit Goyle in the face, and Malfoy's rebounded towards me.

"Protego!" I yelped. Fortunately, I sent it flying off again. Unfortunately, it hit Hermione.

Goyle bellowed and put his hands to his nose, where great ugly boils were springing up —Hermione, whimpering in panic, was clutching her mouth.

"Hermione!"

Ron had hurried forward to see what was wrong with her. He dragged Hermione's hand away from her face, and...it wasn't a pretty sight. Hermione's front teeth—already larger than average —were now growing at an alarming rate; she was looking more and more like a beaver as her teeth elongated, past her bottom lip, toward her chin—panic-stricken, she felt them and let out a terrified cry.

"Oh, Godric!" I babbled, rushing over. "I'm so sorry, Hermione! I didn't mean to repel it towards you, I swear!"

"And what is all this noise about?" said a soft, deadly voice.

Snape had arrived. The Slytherins all clamored to give their explanations. Snape pointed a long finger at Malfoy and said, "Explain."

"Potter attacked me, sir—"

"We attacked each other at the same time!" Harry shouted.

"—and he hit Goyle—look—" Snape examined Goyle, whose face had began resembling a patch of rotten fungi.

"Hospital wing, Goyle," Snape said calmly.

"Malfoy got Hermione!" Ron said. "Look!"

He forced Hermione to show Snape her teeth—she was doing her best to hide them with her hands, though this was difficult as they had now grown down past her collar. Pansy Parkinson and the other Slytherin girls were doubled up with silent giggles, pointing at Hermione from behind Snape's back. I snarled at them. At least Parkinson had the grace to look the slightest bit afraid at my glowering expression.

Snape looked coldly at Hermione, then said, "I see no difference.".

Hermione let out a whimper; her eyes filled with tears, she turned on her heel and ran, ran all the way up the corridor and out of sight. Fury rushed through my body, and I abandoned all pretense of peace.

It was lucky, perhaps, that Harry, Ron, and I started shouting at Snape at the same time; lucky their voices echoed so much in the stone corridor, for in the confused din, it was impossible for him to hear exactly what we were calling him. He got the gist, however.

"Let's see," he said, in his silkiest voice. "Fifty points from Gryffindor and a detention each for Potter, Weasley, and Selwyn. Now get inside, or it'll be a week's worth of detentions." I was still trembling with rage as I slumped back into a seat next to Harry. Ron had obviously decided he was still angry with Harry, and had elected to sit with Dean and Thomas instead. Snape was a monumental arsehole, and I was barely managing to restrain myself from standing back up and hexing him.

"Antidotes!" said Snape, looking around, his cold black eyes glittering unpleasantly. "You should all have prepared your recipes now. I want you to brew them carefully, and then, we will be selecting someone on whom to test one..." Great. Now he was going to poison us.

Just then, there was a knock on the dungeon door.

It was Colin Creevey, a Gryffindor in a year below us. Beaming obviously at Harry, he walked up to Snape's desk at the front of the room.

"Yes?" said Snape curtly.

"Please, sir, I'm supposed to take Harry Potter upstairs." Snape stared down his hooked nose at Colin, whose smile faded from his eager face.

"Potter has another hour of Potions to complete," said Snape coldly. "He will come upstairs when this class is finished."

Colin went pink.

"Sir—sir, Mr. Bagman wants him," he said nervously. "All the champions have got to go, I think they want to take photographs..."

"Very well, very well," Snape snapped. "Potter, leave your things here, I want you back down here later to test your antidote."

"Please, sir—he's got to take his things with him," squeaked Colin. "All the champions..."

"Very well!" said Snape. "Potter—take your bag and get out of my sight!"

With a brief glance filled with dread back at me, Harry swung his bag over his shoulder and headed for the door. At least the lucky twat got to escape Snape's poisoning. Wonderful. I was nearly positive Snape's next candidate was me.

"Well?" Snape snapped at us. "What are you waiting for?" The classroom was suddenly filled with the shuffling of chairs and feet as we lined up to take our ingredients from the front of the class.

"Hey," someone had taken over Harry's seat.

"Hi, Blaise," I said wearily, setting my ingredients down next to my cauldron. "You should start brewing your antidote. Don't want you getting poisoned, do we?"

"I am," he replied. Only then did I look up and realize that Blaise had transferred his things over from his own seat two tables away. "You look like you need a partner." I didn't actually. We were supposed to make the antidotes on our own. But I understood what he was trying to do.

"Thanks, Blaise," I offered him a smile.

"I suppose it wouldn't help much if I said I was sorry," he commented as we worked.

"Not really," I released a short laugh, adding my crushed Bezoar to my cauldron. "I know you aren't anyway."

"I'm not," he admitted. "We Slytherins look out for our kind, and Potter isn't one of us, but you are. It's unfortunate you got detention, but I'm glad you didn't get hexed during the duel." I made a face at the memory of Hermione's growing teeth.

"It's just you, you know," I murmured, waving my wand over my potion and flopping back into my seat. "You're the only Slytherin who likes me."

"Not true," Blaise grinned, settling next to me, as we waited for our antidotes to finish brewing. "Both Theodore and Daphne like you well enough. They're just afraid. And...well, we know Draco—"

"Nope," I cut him off hurriedly. "He doesn't. What did you say about Nott and Greengrass, again?" His smirk widened at my quick change in topic.

"Most of them don't dislike you, they just hate your friends. To be honest, I don't like them much either. But _you_ were—are—my friend, and I'm not abandoning you just because I don't like the people you associate with."

"Thanks, I think. I mean, you did just...kind of insult my friends. But thanks." I shot him a smile.

Half an hour later, I waved my wand over my simmering potion again, then doled out a portion of the teal-colored antidote into a bottle. Around me, everyone else were, too, finishing up with their antidotes.

"Selwyn," a cold voice said. Oh, Merlin save me. Snape was standing over my table, his shadow blocking the meager light from the dungeon lanterns.

"Sir?" I think I sounded more confident than I felt. Dread washed over me as I noticed the small bottle filled with a deep brown liquid. Weedosoros? Possibly. I wasn't terribly worried, because Potions was one of my best classes. But drinking poison wasn't exactly pleasant.

My hand quivered slightly as I accepted the bottle, and downed it. The effects were instantaneous. An overwhelming wave of sorrow and despair crashed down on me, so heavy that I literally fell to the floor from my chair. I couldn't breathe, couldn't hear anything save the pounding of my heart in my ears. Every unhappy thought I ever had resurfaced in my mind all at once, and amplified a dozen times. Someone whimpered. I think it was me.

Suddenly, a cold hand grabbed the back of my neck, and another forced something down my throat. Everything faded slowly back to normal. Wiping tears from my face, I looked up to see everyone staring at me, and Draco Malfoy kneeling next to me, my now empty bottle of Antidote to Common Poisons in his hands. Was that worry in his face? Whatever it was, it was there for only a second, before it vanished, replaced by an indifferent stare.

"Mr. Malfoy," drawled Snape, "bring Miss Selwyn to the infirmary. The rest of you, back to your seats." Malfoy opened his mouth, as if to argue, but was silenced by Snape's glare. Exhaling deeply, he gripped my arm and pulled me up gently.

"Come on," he said lowly, leading me out of the dungeons.

"Are you feeling alright now?" Malfoy asked, once we were out.

"Yeah, I—I think so," I shook my head to clear the cloud of unhappiness. "Godric, that was horrible."

"It looked horrible."

"Go ahead," I grumbled. "Laugh all you want." My words were met with empty silence, which normally would've been occupied by another quip. I furrowed my brow, and flicked my eyes up to glance at him.

"I'm not going to laugh," he said, looking down at me with an unreadable expression. "I mean it, it looked horrible. I wouldn't like to have been you."

"Oh," I averted my gaze. "Thanks, anyway. For giving me the antidote."

"Don't thank me," he replied shortly, as we reached the infirmary. "Snape told me to give it to you." I didn't answer, didn't know what to say. I could hear muffled cries coming from behind one of the curtained beds, but I only vaguely acknowledged it as Hermione's.

Still dazed from the effects of the poison, I watched Malfoy's retreating back as he left the infirmary, Madam Pomfrey tugging my arm to lead me to one of the beds.

Sometimes, it felt like Malfoy didn't know if he wanted to be my friend or hate me. He was confusing me so much. Usually, I found it relatively easy to figure people out. But with Malfoy, I just didn't have a clue.

* * *

 **this might be one of my favorite chapters so far. actually, now that i think about it, i feel like i might sorta be writing Draco and Camille's relationship based off the very odd kind of friendship me and one of my...ah, crush has. ya know, one of those "it's complicated" kind of relationships. unfortunately, we haven't worked things out. on the other hand, Draco and Camille _will_ work things out (sorta) soon. **

**some things will happen in the next chapter, and then we'll have a couple of chapters without Draco because we gotta give him a break.**

 **okay, this is sorta unrelated, (and i swear i'm not bashing anyone's writing or anything) but i've noticed a lot of Draco fics always end up with him being a total jerk, and suddenly, it's revealed that he fancies the girl. and somehow, he always steals a kiss from her. i mean, i _have_ liked some really well-written fics like that, but i just don't like the idea of writing it myself. because? consent? **

**guest who reviewed. i'm assuming both reviews were from you here. i'm glad you noticed i was trying to write a different view of Draco:)) thanks for reading!**

 **catastropherika xo**


	14. Chapter 14

It was midnight. I had been sitting on my bed back in my own dormitory—Madam Pomfrey had dismissed me from the infirmary in time for dinner—for about ten minutes now.

I hadn't forgotten the Astronomy tutoring session I was supposed to have with Malfoy...but with all that happened during Potions in the afternoon, I didn't know if we were still on with that.

"Ugh," I groaned silently as my conscience twinged, and I decided I should at least see if he was at the Astronomy Tower. If he wasn't there, at least I could say it wasn't my fault.

I frowned as I peered around the Astronomy Tower. He wasn't here. Well, that was settled, then.

"You came," Malfoy's voice said. I jumped in fright, whirling around.

"Where are you?" I hissed. He chuckled in amusement, stepping out from the shadows.

"You Slytherins and your sneaky, hide-y ways," I grumbled, crossing my arms. "So...what do you want?"

"You don't have to help me, you know," Malfoy said quietly. I raised a brow.

"Yeah, but I am. Are you going to tell me what you want me to help you with, or not?"

"I didn't bring my Astronomy homework," he answered, having the grace to look the slightest bit sheepish. I threw my hands in the air in disbelief.

"Uh, wasn't that the whole point of you asking me to tutor you?"

"I didn't even think you'd come."

"Why not?" I asked, although I thought I knew why. Malfoy hesitated a moment.

"You're not...exactly fond of me, are you?" he asked slowly.

"Likewise, no?"

"No." Say what, now? "I don't dislike you."

"Could've fooled me," I retorted. "You've hardly gone a day without insulting me."

"Selwyn," he groaned. "It's not you I despise, it's the people you're always with." Whatever I was expecting, it wasn't Blaise's words repeated back to me.

"You know," Malfoy continued, "if you didn't hang with their lot so much, you'd find that most of the Slytherins don't dislike you as much as you think they do." Was he really saying what I thought he was?

"Are you suggesting," my voice lowered, deadly, "that I abandon my friends just to be accepted back into your little social circle?"

"It was your social circle once, remember? Besides, we all know you being sorted into Gryffindor was a mistake. You should've been in Slytherin, with us." Glowering, I turned abruptly to face him.

"It wasn't a mistake. It's who I am and if you don't like it, you can bugger off. Not that I really care," I ran my hands through my hair in frustration. "You know what? This was a mistake. Ask Sinistra to assign you someone else for tutoring. I...I can't do this." Malfoy didn't say anything as I stalked off toward the entrance.

"Look," I turned around again, "what's going on? It used to be plain and simple—we both disliked each other. End of story. And then now you're acting all weird, like suddenly, you're saying that...I don't even know. What's going on."

"I told you, Selwyn," he stepped closer. "I don't hate you."

"Okay, okay," I waved my hands over my face. "I'm just really confused, alright? Can we pretend tonight didn't happen? Please?" Malfoy's face darkened slightly, then hardened in cold resignation.

"Fine."

"Okay," I murmured, backing out of the Astronomy Tower slowly.

As I climbed back into my bed back in the Gryffindor Tower, I couldn't help but feel I had done something wrong.

...

"Harry has at last found love at Hogwarts. His close friend, Colin Creevey, says that Harry is rarely seen out of the company of one Hermione Granger, a stunningly pretty Muggle-born girl who, like Harry, is one of the top students in the school." Rita Skeeter had written about Harry in her piece about the Triwizard Tournament. Even though the article had been released more than a week ago, this particular phrase seemed to be the topic of gossip everywhere in the school.

Malfoy's taunting had only become more intense after that night at the Astronomy Tower, even egging on the other Slytherins.

"Want a hanky, Potter, in case you start crying in Transfiguration?"

"Since when have you been one of the top students in the school, Potter? Or is this a school you and Longbottom have set up together?"

However, even as several other Gryffindors, including Hermione, had gotten dragged in, the Slytherins never once touched me.

"Stunningly pretty? Her?" Parkinson had shrieked the first time she had come face-to-face with Hermione after Rita's article had appeared. "What was she judging against—a chipmunk?"

"If we're really comparing with animals, you should know that you look like a pug's ugly step-sister," I had sniped back, before Hermione tugged me away.

"Ignore it," Hermione told us in a dignified voice, holding her head in the air and stalking past the sniggering Slytherin girls as though she couldn't hear them.

Ron still wasn't speaking to Harry, even after the detention the three of us had with Snape, picking rats' brains for two whole hours. Gross.

The only good thing that happened was the Saturday before the first task, when all students in the third year and above were permitted to go to Hogsmeade. Harry needed no persuasion at all to go, but he refused to leave without his Invisibility Cloak.

"Really, Harry," I grumbled as we walked out of Honeydukes, carrying a cream-filled chocolate in one hand and holding packages filled with other snacks in the other. "No one's going to bother you there. Not any more than they already do anyway."

"Oh yeah?" said Harry. "Look behind you."

Rita Skeeter and her photographer friend had just emerged from the Three Broomsticks pub.

Talking in low voices, they passed right by without sparing us a glance. When they were gone, Harry said, "She's staying in the village. I bet she's coming to watch the first task."

"She's gone," said Hermione, looking right through Harry toward the end of the street.

"Why don't we go and have a butterbeer in the Three Broomsticks, it's a bit cold, isn't it? You don't have to talk to Ron!" she added irritably.

The Three Broomsticks was packed, mainly with Hogwarts students enjoying their free afternoon, but also with a variety of magical people.

I settled back in my seat comfortably, nursing my extra-large butterbeer, and purposefully ignoring Hermione and Harry bickering about her S.P.E.W. club.

"Look, it's Hagrid!" said Hermione suddenly. Hagrid was with Professor Moody. They were getting up to leave, when Moody peered at us, then muttered something to Hagrid. Then they began making their way towards us.

"'Ello, Camille. All right, Hermione?" said Hagrid loudly.

"Hello," said Hermione, smiling back.

"Nice cloak, Potter." Moody leant down and muttered, a wide grin on his scarred face.

"Can your eye—I mean, can you—?"

"Yeah, it can see through Invisibility Cloaks," Moody said quietly. "And it's come in useful at times, I can tell you."

"Wicked," I mumbled into my butterbeer. Hagrid bent down to where we knew Harry was sitting—I supposed he thought he was being discreet—and whispered something I couldn't here.

Straightening up, Hagrid said loudly, "Nice ter see yeh, Camille, Hermione," winked, and departed, followed by Moody.

"Why does Hagrid want me to meet him at midnight?" Harry said, very surprised.

"Is that what he said?" I raised a brow.

"Does he?" said Hermione, looking startled. "I wonder what he's up to? I don't know whether you should go, Harry..." She looked nervously around and hissed, "It might make you late for Sirius." Apparently, Sirius had written to tell Harry to meet him in the common room at midnight tonight. I frowned.

"It might be important. You should go. Just tell us all about it when you get back, yeah?" I nudged my foot in his general direction under the table.

"Ouch," he grunted. Oops, too hard.

* * *

 **this chapter's really short, sorry about that. the second part's pretty meh, but! the part at the Astronomy Tower! idk guys i feel like i rushed it a bit, but i'll be editing all my chapters soon. maybe once i finish TGOF? that's not _terribly_ soon :\ ah well. **

**in other news, i'm really tired and quite swamped with assignments. it's thanksgiving in nearly a week though!:):):)**

 **alrighty then. i'm literally about to fall asleep right now, so i'll stop my my author's note.**

 **au revoir!**

 **catastropherika xo**


	15. Chapter 15

"Dragons!" I exclaimed loudly. Hermione clapped a hand hurriedly over my mouth. "Sorry," I whispered. "But _dragons_!"

After breakfast the next day, Harry had dragged us both to the grounds, where he told us about the first task, the reason why Charlie Weasley was here with his dragons, and Sirius' warning about Karkaroff being a death eater. But Hermione thought we should worry first about the more pressing issue, the dragons.

"Let's just try and keep you alive until Tuesday evening," she said desperately, "and then we can worry about Karkaroff."

We walked three times around the lake, trying all the way to think of a simple spell that would subdue a dragon. Nothing whatsoever occurred to us, so we retired to the library instead. Here, Harry pulled down every book he could find on dragons, and we set to work searching through the large pile.

"Talon-clipping by charms...treating scale-rot...' This is no good, this is for nutters like Hagrid who want to keep them healthy…" I snorted.

"Dragons are extremely difficult to slay, owing to the ancient magic that imbues their thick hides, which none but the most powerful spells can penetrate...' But Sirius said a simple one would do it...let's try some simple spellbooks, then," said Harry, throwing aside Men Who Love Dragons Too Much.

He returned to the table with a pile of spellbooks, set them down, and began to flick through each in turn.

"Well, there are Switching Spells...but what's the point of Switching it? Unless you swapped its fangs for wine-gums or something that would make it less dangerous...The trouble is, like that book said, not much is going to get through a dragon's hide…" I shrugged.

"I'd say Transfigure it, but something that big, you really haven't got a hope, I doubt even Professor McGonagall…" Hermione muttered. "Unless you're supposed to put the spell on yourself? Maybe to give yourself extra powers? But they're not simple spells, I mean, we haven't done any of those in class, I only know about them because I've been doing O.W.L. practice papers..."

"Hermione," Harry said, through gritted teeth, "will you shut up for a bit, please? I m trying to concentrate." I fought off a grin. No one knew how to tamper Hermione's know-it-all attitude quite like Harry.

"Oh no, he's back again, why can't he read on his stupid ship?" said Hermione irritably as Viktor Krum slouched in, cast a surly look over at us, and settled himself in a distant corner with a pile of books. "Come on, we'll go back to the common room...his fan club'll be here in a moment, twittering away..."

And sure enough, as we left the library, a gang of girls tiptoed past us, one of them wearing a Bulgaria scarf tied around her waist. The girl with the scarf glared at me as I sniggered in their direction.

...

"C'mon, Harry. You can do it," I said encouragingly at the frustrated boy across the room. "Try it again." Harry had asked Hermione to teach him the Summoning Charm—the one she had been learning on the train to Hogwarts earlier in the year—and he was having problems. The books and quills kept losing heart halfway across the room and dropping like stones to the floor.

"It isn't as easy for me as it is for you, Camille," he grumbled, raising his wand again. I had taken the opportunity to freeload off Harry's lessons with Hermione, and I had gotten the hang of it quite quickly.

Harry practiced the whole day, and he finally got it by two o'clock in the morning.

"Harry, I really think you've got it!" said Hermione delightedly as he summoned the dictionary from her hand into his.

"Just as long as it works tomorrow," Harry said. "The Firebolt's going to be much farther away than the stuff in here, it's going to be in the castle, and I'm going to be out there on the grounds. ..."

"That doesn't matter," said Hermione firmly." Just as long as you're concentrating really, really hard on it, it'll come. Harry, we'd better get some sleep...you're going to need it."

The atmosphere in the school the next morning was one of great tension and excitement. Lessons were to stop at midday, giving all the students time to get down to the dragons' enclosure, though, of course, no one knew what was supposed to be down there.

"He'll be okay, right? Yes, he'll be alright," Hermione whispered nervously to me as we walked down together to the arena.

"Harry'll be fine," I patted her back, sounding far more confident than I felt.

A whistle blew, and there was the sound of chains dragging across the ground, accompanied by a loud roar that shook the enclosure. Even though I already knew the champions were going to be facing dragons, nothing could've prepared me for the sight of the large, but very beautiful Swedish Short-Snout. Its scales were the most gorgeous shade of silvery blue. I wondered if this was Harry's dragon.

"There's Cedric!" someone said. My eyes flicked to the entrance of the enclosure, where Cedric was, looking very green. Okay, not Harry's.

The Swedish Short-Snout roared again and shot a brilliant blue flame from its mouth toward Cedric. I winced as he dodged behind a pile of rocks, barely missing it.

"Oooh, narrow miss there, very narrow," Bagman was the commentator. "He's taking risks, this one!"

Cedric seemed to have a burst of inspiration just as he put up a brief shield charm to block a small burst of flame. He pointed his wand at a rock, and as I watched, it turned into a dog. Genius! The dog yipped loudly and ran around the enclosure. For a moment, the dragon was distracted, peering at the dog. Cedric took the opportunity to dash for the golden egg. Unfortunately, the dragon turned around at the very last moment, deciding that Cedric was the better prey. She breathed another blast of blue flame at him just as he grabbed the egg, and he only barely managed to bring up a weak shield.

The crowd erupted into cheers.

"Very good indeed!" Bagman was shouting. "And now the marks from the judges!"

Hermione and I slumped back onto each other.

"That was awful," Hermione sighed, trembling a bit.

"It was," I agreed nervously. "Harry'll be fine. He'll be fine."

"One down, three to go!" Bagman yelled as the whistle blew again. "Miss Delacour, if you please!"

"Damn it," I hissed, seeing her dragon. A Common Welsh Green? Surely that was the easiest. Fleur didn't do badly, but her performance wasn't spectacular. Before the dragon could attack, she waved her wand and put it in a sort of trance. It then lay back on its claws and started dozing off. The only mildly exciting part was when a great jet of flame shot out as it snored, and lit up her skirt. But Fleur put it out pretty quickly with water from her wand, before going on to take her egg.

At least Krum's was more thrilling, but much more terrifying. He shot some spell right at his Chinese Fireball's eye, which did nothing but make it angry. It roared and trampled around, crushing half of the real eggs. But it did the job, and Krum got his egg.

The whistle blew for the fourth time. It would be Harry's turn now. My fists clenched tightly as I saw his dragon. The Hungarian Horntail. It was twice the size of the other champions' dragons, and it was one of the most dangerous dragons in existence.

"That's not fair!" I gritted my teeth. "They've given him the hardest one." Hermione didn't say anything, but her face had gone pale.

Harry raised his wand and yelled something, likely the Summoning Charm. Within seconds, his Firebolt came hurtling to him. He swung his leg over the broom and zoomed up, before diving. I released a yelp as he pulled out of his dive just in time to avoid a jet of fire.

"Great Scott, he can fly!" yelled Bagman as the crowd shrieked and gasped. "Are you watching this, Mr. Krum?"

Slowly but surely, Harry managed to taunt the Horntail to follow him, leaving her eggs. He dived swiftly toward the unprotected eggs and swiped the golden egg from the pile.

Hermione and I were screaming, hugging each other tightly. Harry had done it. He had really done it!

"Look at that!" Bagman was yelling. "Will you look at that! Our youngest champion is quickest to get his egg! Well, this is going to shorten the odds on Mr. Potter!" Good Godric, that was the most intense thing I had ever seen in my life.

Ron was rushing towards us now, face pale.

"There's no way Harry would willingly volunteer to do that!"

"Now you say," I muttered, before breaking out into a large grin. "Good for you, Ron. Now you've just got to tell Harry that."

Together, we hurried to the champions' tent.

"Harry, you were brilliant!" Hermione said squeakily. There were fingernail marks on her face where she had been clutching it in fear. "You were amazing! You really were!"

"That was horrible," I wrapped him in a shaky hug. "But you did great! We knew you could do it!"

But Harry was looking at Ron, who was very white and staring at Harry as though he were a ghost.

"Harry," he said, very seriously, "whoever put your name in that goblet—I—I reckon they're trying to do you in!"

"Caught on, have you?" said Harry coldly. "Took you long enough." Oh, come on. Surely Harry couldn't be that unreasonable.

Hermione was looking nervously between both of them.

"It's okay," he said, before Ron could get the words out. "Forget it."

"No," said Ron, "I shouldn't've—"

"Forget it, "Harry said.

Ron grinned nervously at him, and Harry grinned back. I released a relieved laugh. Hermione burst into tears.

"There's nothing to cry about!" Harry told her, bewildered.

"You two are so stupid!" she shouted, stamping her foot on the ground, tears splashing down her front. Then, before either of them could stop her, she had given both of them a hug and dashed away, now positively howling. Still chuckling, I followed her back to the enclosure, where the judges were going to announce Harry's points.

Madame Maxine—eight. Not bad.

Mr. Crouch—a nine.

Dumbledore—another nine.

Ludo Bagman—a...ten? Nice. He must've been impressed by Harry's flying.

And Karkaroff…four. What? That was ridiculous.

But Harry and Krum were now tied in first place. Fantastic.

* * *

 **here's a short one, hardly edited, but the best i can do for now. i've decided to update this story weekly, since daily (or once every two days) isn't going to work for my schedule at the moment.**

 **LokeLeo. your reviews make me really happy. thanks again!:)**

 **andpleasedontcry. thanks hehe (p.s. IT'S CONFUSING SOMETIMES because it's like, ya know, i sorta think they don't know exactly what they feel for each other? but it's fun to write :D)**

 **thanks for reading!**

 **P.S. IT'S THANKSGIVING BREAK NEXT WEEK FINALLY OMG I'M LEAKING TEARS OF JOY.**

 **catastropherika xo**


	16. Chapter 16

"Fits, doesn't it?" Ron said, as Harry recounted everything Sirius had told him. "Remember what Malfoy said on the train, about his dad being friends with Karkaroff? Now we know where they knew each other. They were probably running around in masks together at the World Cup... I'll tell you one thing, though, Harry, if it was Karkaroff who put your name in the goblet, he's going to be feeling really stupid now, isn't he? Didn't work, did it? You only got a scratch! Come here—I'll do it—"

We were in the Owlery, so Harry could use Pigwidgeon to send another letter to Sirius about the first task. My heart sank slightly at the mention of the masked people at the World Cup, thought I didn't know why exactly.

Pigwidgeon was so overexcited at the idea of a delivery he was flying around and around Harry's head, hooting incessantly. Ron snatched Pigwidgeon out of the air and held him still while Harry attached the letter to his leg.

"There's no way any of the other tasks are going to be that dangerous, how could they be?" Ron went on as he carried Pigwidgeon to the window. "You know what? I reckon you could win this tournament, Harry, I'm serious." I grinned. It was good to have Ron back, the constant source of optimism in our little cadre. But Hermione was frowning at him.

"Harry's got a long way to go before he finishes this tournament," she said seriously. "If that was the first task, I hate to think what's coming next."

"Right little ray of sunshine, aren't you?" said Ron. "You and Professor Trelawney should get together sometime."

He threw Pigwidgeon out of the window. We watched Pigwidgeon disappear into the darkness, and then Ron said, "Well, we'd better get downstairs for your surprise party, Harry—Fred and George should have nicked enough food from the kitchens by now."

Sure enough, when we entered the Gryffindor common room it exploded with cheers and yells again. There were mountains of cakes and flagons of pumpkin juice and butterbeer on every surface. Lee Jordan had let off some Filibuster's Fireworks, so that the air was thick with stars and sparks. And Dean Thomas, who was very good at drawing, had put up some impressive new banners, most of which depicted Harry zooming around the Horntail's head on his Firebolt, though a couple showed Cedric with his head on fire.

I picked up a butterbeer—my favorite—and a large slice of cake, before sitting down on one of the couches.

"Blimey, this is heavy," said Lee Jordan, picking up the golden egg, which Harry had left on a table, and weighing it in his hands. "Open it, Harry, go on! Let's just see what's inside it!"

"He's supposed to work out the clue on his own," Hermione said swiftly. "It's in the tournament rules..." I snorted. Yeah, like the other champions were going to actually do _that_.

"Yeah, go on, Harry, open it!" several people echoed.

Lee passed Harry the egg, and Harry dug his fingernails into the groove that ran all the way around it and prised it open.

The moment Harry opened it, the most horrible noise, a loud and screechy wailing, filled the room. I squeaked and dropped my food back on the table to cover my ears.

"Shut it!" Fred bellowed, his hands over his ears.

"What was that?" said Seamus Finnigan, staring at the egg as Harry slammed it shut again. "Sounded like a banshee...maybe you've got to get past one of those next, Harry!"

"It was someone being tortured!" said Neville, who had gone very white and spilled sausage rolls all over the floor. "You're going to have to fight the Cruciatus Curse!"

"Don't be a prat, Neville, that's illegal," said George. "They wouldn't use the Cruciatus Curse on the champions. I thought it sounded a bit like Percy singing...maybe you've got to attack him while he's in the shower, Harry." I snickered.

"Want a jam tart, Camille?" said Fred. I raised a suspicious brow at the plate he was holding out to me. He grinned.

"It's all right," he said. "I haven't done anything to them. It's the custard creams you've got to watch—"

Neville, who had just bitten into a custard cream, choked and spat it out. Fred laughed.

"Just my little joke, Neville..."

I took a jam tart and bit into it cautiously.

"Did you get all this from the kitchens, Fred?" Hermione asked.

"Yep," said Fred, grinning at her. He put on a high-pitched squeak and imitated a house-elf. "'Anything we can get you, sir, anything at all!' They're dead helpful...get me a roast ox if I said I was peckish."

"How do you get in there?" Hermione said in an innocently casual sort of voice.

"Oh no," I groaned. "Shut up now, Fred."

"Easy," said Fred, "concealed door behind a painting of a bowl of fruit. Just tickle the pear, and it giggles and—" He stopped and looked suspiciously at her. "Why?"

"Nothing," said Hermione quickly.

"Now you've done it," I threw my hands up in the air, then lowering them quickly as jam tart crumbs rained down on my robes.

"Going to try and lead the house-elves out on strike now, are you?" said George. "Going to give up all the leaflet stuff and try and stir them up into rebellion?" Several people chortled. Hermione didn't answer.

"Don't you go upsetting them and telling them they've got to take clothes and salaries!" said Fred warningly. "You'll put them off their cooking!"

Just then, Neville caused a slight diversion by turning into a large canary.

"Oh—sorry, Neville!" Fred shouted over all the laughter. "I forgot—it was the custard creams we hexed—"

Within a minute, however, Neville had molted, and once his feathers had fallen off, he reappeared looking entirely normal. He even joined in laughing.

"Canary Creams!" Fred shouted to the excitable crowd. "George and I invented them—seven Sickles each, a bargain!"

...

We were given a week of break before classes resumed. It got cold quickly, very cold, and I had never been more grateful for the castle's thick walls and warm fires.

"I'm not sure whether they hibernate or not," Hagrid told us in the windy pumpkin patch during the next Care of Magical Creatures lesson. "Thought we'd jus' try an see if they fancied a kip...we'll jus' settle 'em down in these boxes..."

There were now only ten skrewts left. Apparently, their desire to kill one another had not been exercised out of them. Each of them was now approaching six feet in length. Their thick gray armor; their powerful, scuttling legs. Shivering, we looked dispiritedly at the enormous boxes Hagrid had brought out, all lined with pillows and fluffy blankets.

"We'll jus' lead 'em in here," Hagrid said, "an' put the lids on, and we'll see what happens."

But the skrewts, it transpired, did not hibernate, and did not appreciate being forced into pillow-lined boxes and nailed in. Hagrid was soon yelling, "Don panic, now, don' panic!" while the skrewts rampaged around the pumpkin patch, now strewn with the smoldering wreckage of the boxes. Most of the class—Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle in the lead—had fled into Hagrid's cabin through the back door and barricaded themselves in. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I, however, were among those who remained outside trying to help Hagrid. Together, we managed to restrain and tie up nine of the skrewts, though at the cost of numerous burns and cuts. At last, only one skrewt was left.

"Don' frighten him, now!" Hagrid shouted as Ron and Harry used their wands to shoot jets of fiery sparks at the skrewt, which was advancing menacingly on them, its sting arched, quivering, over its back. "Jus' try an slip the rope 'round his sting, so he won hurt any o' the others!"

"Yeah, we wouldn't want that!" Ron shouted angrily as he and Harry backed into the wall of Hagrid's cabin, still holding the skrewt off with their sparks.

"Well, well, well...this does look like fun."

Rita Skeeter was leaning on Hagrid's garden fence, looking in at the mayhem. She was wearing a thick magenta cloak with a furry purple collar today, and her crocodile-skin handbag was over her arm. The woman who had managed to make my friend's life worse than it already was. I groaned mentally.

Hagrid launched himself forward on top of the skrewt that was cornering Harry and Ron and flattened it. A blast of fire shot out of its end, withering the pumpkin plants nearby.

"Who're you?" Hagrid asked Rita Skeeter as he slipped a loop of rope around the skrewt's sting and tightened it.

"Rita Skeeter, Daily Prophet reporter," Rita replied, beaming at him. Her gold teeth glinted.

"Thought Dumbledore said you weren' allowed inside the school anymore," said Hagrid, frowning slightly as he got off the slightly squashed skrewt and started tugging it over to its fellows.

Rita acted as though she hadn't heard what Hagrid had said.

"What are these fascinating creatures called?" she asked, beaming still more widely.

"Blast-Ended Skrewts," grunted Hagrid.

"Really?" said Rita, apparently full of lively interest. "I've never heard of them before...where do they come from?"

That was a _good_ question, actually. Where had Hagrid got the skrewts from?

"They're very interesting, aren't they? Aren't they, Harry?" Hermione said quickly.

"What? Oh, yeah... _ouch_...interesting," said Harry, wincing as she stepped on his foot.

"Ah, you're here. Harry!" said Rita Skeeter as she looked around. "So you like Care of Magical Creatures, do you? One of your favorite lessons?"

"Yes," said Harry stoutly. Hagrid beamed at him.

"Lovely," said Rita. "Really lovely. Been teaching long?" she added to Hagrid. I noticed her beady eyes roving over the rest of us, and then to the cabin windows, where most of the class were.

"This is o'ny me second year," said Hagrid.

"Lovely...I don't suppose you'd like to give an interview, would you? Share some of your experience of magical creatures? The Prophet does a zoological column every Wednesday, as I'm sure you know. We could feature these—er—Bang-Ended Scoots." What was the woman doing? She never offered to write anything without an ulterior motive.

"Blast-Ended Skrewts," Hagrid said eagerly. "Er—yeah, why not?"

We watched in silent dread as Hagrid and Rita Skeeter made arrangements to meet in the Three Broomsticks for a good long interview later that week. Then the bell rang up at the castle, signaling the end of the lesson.

"Well, good-bye, Harry!" Rita Skeeter called merrily to him as he set off with Ron and Hermione. "Until Friday night, then, Hagrid!

"She'll twist everything he says," Harry said under his breath.

"As long as she doesn't say anything bad enough to get him fired," I sighed.

"She could, if Hagrid imported those skrewts illegally or something," Hermione desperately.

"Hagrid's been in loads of trouble before, and Dumbledore's never sacked him," said Ron consolingly. "Worst that can happen is Hagrid'll have to get rid of the skrewts. Sorry...did I say worst? I meant best."

We laughed, and, feeling slightly more cheerful, went to lunch.

Classes went by normally the rest of the day, and nothing remotely exciting happened. The only thing that was even interesting was when Hermione showed us the Weasley twins' secret entrance to the kitchens—not for extra food, unfortunately—but to bring us to Dobby, the Malfoys' former house elf, and Winky, the house elf Mr. Crouch had sacked during the Quidditch World Cup.

I had never felt so much sympathy for them, having been served by them my whole life. Anyone could see that the idea of freedom clearly didn't agree with them, but perhaps if they never had been enslaved from the start…..things could be different. But looking at the way things were right now, I doubted Hermione's proposition would work.

* * *

 **i feel like my chapters are just getting worse. i think the yule ball chapter's better though! i promise. it's coming soon!**

 **oh my gosh, i swear, life is just getting. too. much. even though it's thanksgiving break right now, and christmas is just round the corner.**

 **i'm not going to rant on here because it'll probably put you guys off my actual story. but honestly, _thank you_ for liking my writing enough to click "Next", because it means a lot to me. **

**catastropherika xo**


	17. Chapter 17

"Potter! Weasley! Will you pay attention?" Professor McGonagall's irritated voice cracked like a whip through the Transfiguration class on Thursday, and they both jumped in their seats. I sniggered at their shocked expressions.

It was the end of the lesson. We had finished their work, and the guinea fowl we had been changing into guinea pigs had been shut away in a large cage on Professor McGonagall's desk. We had copied down their homework from the blackboard, the bell was due to ring at any moment, and Harry and Ron, who had been having a sword fight with a couple of Fred and George's fake wands at the back of the class, looked up, Ron holding a tin parrot and Harry, a rubber haddock.

"Now that Potter and Weasley have been kind enough to act their age," said Professor McGonagall, with an angry look at the pair of them as the head of Harry's haddock drooped and fell silently to the floor—Ron's parrot's beak had severed it moments before—"I have something to say to you all. The Yule Ball is approaching—a traditional part of the Triwizard Tournament and an opportunity for us to socialize with our foreign guests. Now, the ball will be open only to fourth years and above—although you may invite a younger student if you wish—"

Lavender Brown let out a shrill giggle. Parvati Patil nudged her hard in the ribs, her face working furiously as she too fought not to giggle. _Annoying bimbos_ , I thought, rolling my eyes, though I, too, secretly found the idea of the Yule Ball exciting.

"Dress robes will be worn," Professor McGonagall continued, "and the ball will start at eight o'clock on Christmas Day, finishing at midnight in the Great Hall. Now then—"

Professor McGonagall stared deliberately around the class.

"The Yule Ball is of course a chance for us all to—er—let our hair down," she said, in a disapproving voice.

Lavender giggled harder than ever, with her hand pressed hard against her mouth to stifle the sound. I fought the urge to roll my eyes again.

"But that does NOT mean," Professor McGonagall went on, "that we will be relaxing the standards of behavior we expect from Hogwarts students. I will be most seriously displeased if a Gryffindor student embarrasses the school in any way."

The bell rang, and there was the usual scuffle of activity as everyone packed their bags and swung them onto their shoulders.

Professor McGonagall called above the noise, "Potter—a word, if you please." Hermione, Ron, and I exchanged a glance, before leaving the classroom without Harry. He would catch up with us later.

Later, in the evening, I wrote my name with a flourish on the signboard where students who wanted to stay in school over Christmas had to sign. Never before had so many wanted to stay at Hogwarts for Christmas, but obviously, this year was an exception.

"Agh!" I yelped as I collided with someone, and the particularly interesting book on magical creatures I had been peering at fell to the floor. A pair of strong arms grabbed me, saving me from an ungraceful tumble. I looked up into the amused eyes of the very good-looking Durmstrang boy I had noticed during their first feast here. I had seen him occasionally around the school several times, but we hadn't had the chance to speak.

"Thanks," I muttered, blushing slightly.

"Hello," he said, handing me the book I had dropped (what a gentleman!). "I'm Nikolas."

Ooh, he had an accent, a very slight accent, but still an accent.

"Hi," I squeaked, taking his offered hand. "Camille." To my (very pleasant) surprise, instead of shaking my hand, he lifted it to his lips gently. I could feel my cheeks heating up as my lips split into a wide grin.

"I've seen you around," Nikolas commented, leaning against the shelf I was next to. I opened my mouth to reply, until I spotted Madam Pince making her way towards us with a grim look, no doubt to scold us for making too much noise. Before I knew what I was doing, I grabbed his hand and pulled him further down several shelves.

"Vhat are you doing?" he asked, puzzled, when we stopped.

"Sorry," I gave him a sheepish grin. "Madam Pince—that's our librarian—was just...well, I don't really fancy being banned from the library for making too much noise. Again." Nikolas chuckled softly.

"It's okay," he said, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Some of us got banned from our library back in Durmstrang once too."

"Really?" I raised a brow. "What did you do?"

"Ve accidentally released a cage of Cornish Pixies in our library," Nikolas seemed to be fighting laughter.

"No way!" I exclaimed. "I should try that sometime. I mean, not in the library, obviously. Maybe in the dormitories…"

Nikolas was pleasant company. Good-looking, smart, _and_ with a wild streak? I think I had found my soulmate. We spent the whole afternoon together, and I was a tad bit disappointed when he had to return to the Durmstrang ship.

"Vill you go to the ball with me?" he blurted out before he left, running his hand nervously through his unruly dark hair. Good Godric, did he just…? It was all I could do to contain the excited scream inside me.

"Yes!" A wide grin appeared on his face.

"Veil...I've got to go now. But I look forvard to seeing you again, Camille," he said, his blue eyes sparkling with mirth. He bent down, and pressed his lips softly to my cheek. Oh my Merlin!

I didn't even care that I was beaming rather stupidly as I made my way back to the Gryffindor Tower.

...

With the news of the Yule Ball buzzing around in the air, no one really paid attention to classes. Some of our teachers, like little Professor Flitwick, gave up trying to teach us much when our minds were so clearly elsewhere. He even allowed us to play games in his lesson on Wednesday.

Other teachers were not so generous. Nothing would ever deflect Professor Binns, for example, from plowing on through his notes on goblin rebellions—as Binns hadn't let his own death stand in the way of continuing to teach. Honestly, just because he didn't have a life—literally—didn't mean we didn't have one.

Professors McGonagall and Moody kept us working until the very last second of our classes too, no mercy. And Snape, of course, wasn't much different. Staring nastily around at us, he informed us that he would be testing us on poison antidotes during the last lesson of the term.

"Evil, he is," Ron said bitterly that night in the Gryffindor common room. "Springing a test on us on the last day. Ruining the last bit of term with a whole load of studying."

"You don't say," I grumbled, tossing my Potions book back onto the armchair I was slouching into.

"Mmm...you're not exactly straining yourself, though, are you?" said Hermione, looking at him over the top of her Potions notes. Ron was busy building a card castle out of his Exploding Snap pack.

"It's Christmas, Hermione," said Harry lazily. He was rereading Flying with the Cannons for the tenth time in an armchair near the fire.

Hermione looked severely over at him too. "I'd have thought you'd be doing something constructive, Harry, even if you don't want to learn your antidotes! At least Camille's being sensible."

I yawned tiredly, pulling my textbook back to my chest.

"Like what?" Harry asked dazedly, still staring into the pages of his book.

"That egg!" Hermione hissed.

"Come on, Hermione, I've got till February the twenty-fourth," Harry said.

"But it might take weeks to work it out!" said Hermione. "You're going to look a real idiot if everyone else knows what the next task is and you don't!"

"She's got a point there," I called. "Not only do you have to figure out the second task, but you might also have to do some intense research to figure out how to get through it."

"Leave him alone, he's earned a bit of a break," said Ron, and he placed the last two cards on top of the castle and the whole lot blew up, singeing his eyebrows.

"Nice look, Ron...go well with your dress robes, that will."

It was Fred and George. They sat down at our table as Ron felt how much damage had been done.

"Ron, can we borrow Pigwidgeon?" George asked.

"No, he's off delivering a letter," said Ron. "Why?"

"Because George wants to invite him to the ball," said Fred sarcastically. I snorted.

"Surely you aren't that desperate for a date," I feigned a shocked expression.

"Never," George scowled, elbowing me in the ribs. "Because we want to send a letter, you stupid great prat."

"Who d'you two keep writing to, eh?" said Ron.

"Nose out, Ron, or I'll burn that for you too," said Fred, waving his wand threateningly.

"So...you lot got dates for the ball yet?" I turned away to conceal a rising grin and a blush.

"Nope," said Ron.

"Well, you'd better hurry up, mate, or all the good ones will be gone," said Fred.

"Who're you going with, then?" said Ron.

"Angelina," said Fred promptly, without a trace of embarrassment.

"What?" said Ron, taken aback. "You've already asked her?"

"Good point," said Fred. He turned his head and called across the common room, "Oi! Angelina!" Angelina, who had been chatting with Alicia Spinnet near the fire, looked over at him.

"What?" she called back.

"Want to come to the ball with me?" Angelina gave Fred an appraising sort of look.

"All right, then," she said, and she turned back to Alicia and carried on chatting with a bit of a grin on her face.

"There you go," said Fred smugly, "piece of cake." He got to his feet, yawning, and said, "We'd better use a school owl then, George, come…"

They left. Ron stopped feeling his eyebrows and looked across the smoldering wreck of his card castle at Harry.

"We should get a move on, you know...ask someone. He's right. We don't want to end up with a pair of trolls." Hermione let out a sputter of indignation as I smothered a chuckle in the sleeve of my robes.

"A pair of...what, excuse me?"

"Well—you know," said Ron, shrugging. "I'd rather go alone than with—with Eloise Midgen, say."

"Her acne's loads better lately—and she's really nice!"

"Her nose is off-center," said Ron.

"You aren't that perfect either, mate," I muttered. Harry fought an amused smile.

"Oh I see," Hermione said, bristling. "So basically, you're going to take the best-looking girl who'll have you, even if she's completely horrible?"

"Er—yeah, that sounds about right," said Ron.

"I'm going to bed," Hermione snapped. "C'mon, Camille." She swept off toward the girls' staircase without another word, dragging me, still cackling away, with her.

The Hogwarts staff, demonstrating a continued desire to impress the visitors from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, seemed determined to show the castle at its best this Christmas. The decorations were absolutely stunning this year—everlasting icicles had been attached to the banisters of the marble staircase; the usual twelve Christmas trees in the Great Hall were bedecked with everything from luminous holly berries to real, hooting, golden owls, and the suits of armor had all been bewitched to sing carols whenever anyone passed them.

Meanwhile, Harry and Ron still hadn't gotten dates to the ball.

"Why did I do it?" Ron said wildly. "I don't know what made me do it!" Since hearing how Ron had asked Fleur Delacour, _Fleur Delacour_ , the Beauxbatons champion, to the ball, I hadn't stopped howling with laughter. When he said he wanted to go for the prettiest, I hadn't thought he meant a part-Veela.

"What?" said Harry, who had just entered the common room.

"He—er—just asked Fleur Delacour to go to the ball with him," said Ginny. She looked as though she was fighting back a smile, but she kept patting Ron's arm sympathetically. At her words, more laughter bubbled up in my stomach.

"Shut up, Camille!" Ron whined, holding his face in his hands.

"You, what?' said Harry.

"I don't know what made me do it!" Ron gasped again. "What was I playing at? There were people—all around—I've gone mad—everyone watching! I was just walking past her in the entrance hall—she was standing there talking to Diggory—and it sort of came over me—and I asked her!"

Ron moaned and put his face in his hands. He kept talking, though the words were barely distinguishable.

"She looked at me like I was a sea slug or something. Didn't even answer. And then—I dunno—I just sort of came to my senses and ran for it."

"She's part veela," said Harry. "You were right—her grandmother was one. It wasn't your fault, I bet you just walked past when she was turning on the old charm for Diggory and got a blast of it —but she was wasting her time. He's going with Cho Chang." Ron looked up.

"I asked her to go with me just now," Harry said dully, "and she told me."

Ginny had suddenly stopped smiling. I stopped my laughing abruptly, glancing at Ginny in slight alarm. Oh dear. She had fancied Harry ever since...well, ever since forever.

"This is mad," said Ron. "We're the only ones left who haven't got anyone—well, except Neville. Hey—guess who he asked? Hermione!"

"You say that like it's a bad thing," I frowned.

"What?" said Harry, completely distracted by this startling news.

"Yeah, I know!" said Ron, some of the color coming back into his face as he started to laugh. "He told me after Potions! Said she's always been really nice, helping him out with work and stuff—but she told him she was already going with someone. Ha! As if! She just didn't want to go with Neville...I mean, who would?"

"Hey!" I smacked his shoulder. "That isn't very nice of you." Besides, Hermione did already have a date. Ginny and I had been equally shocked, then gleeful, when she told us, rather excitedly, that _Viktor Krum_ had asked her to be his date. _Viktor-bloody-Krum_!

"Don't!" said Ginny, annoyed. "Don't laugh—"

Just then Hermione climbed in through the portrait hole.

"Why weren't you two at dinner?" she said, coming over to join us.

"Because—oh, shut up laughing, you two—because they've both just been turned down by girls they asked to the ball!" said Ginny. _That_ shut Harry and Ron up.

"Thanks a bunch, Ginny," said Ron sourly.

"All the good-looking ones taken, Ron?" said Hermione loftily. "Eloise Midgen starting to look quite pretty now, is she? Well, I'm sure you'll find someone somewhere who'll have you."

But Ron was staring at Hermione as though suddenly seeing her in a whole new light.

"Hermione, Neville's right—you are a girl...you, too, Camille!"

"How very observant of you," I snorted, erupting into giggles again.

"Oh, well spotted," she said acidly.

"Well—you can both come with us!"

"No, I can't," snapped Hermione.

"I can't either, sorry," I shrugged.

"Oh come on," he said impatiently, "we need partners, we're going to look really stupid if we haven't got any, everyone else has..."

"I can't come with you," said Hermione, now blushing, "because I'm already going with someone. And so is Camille."

"No, you're not!" said Ron. "You just said that to get rid of Neville!"

"Oh did I?" said Hermione, and her eyes flashed dangerously. "Just because it's taken you three years to notice, Ron, doesn't mean no one else has spotted I'm a girl!" Ron stared at her. Then he grinned again.

"Okay, okay, we know you're a girl," he said. "That do? Will you come now?" Oh, that daft cow.

"I've already told you!" Hermione said very angrily. "I'm going with someone else!" And she stormed off toward the girls' dormitories again. I sighed as I made to follow her. Ron could be really stupid sometimes.

* * *

 **here's a longer chapter. i think i kinda like this one, even though it's a mostly unedited word dump HA. BUT RON IS SUCH A PRAT. he reminds me of my brother, actually xD**

 **VermilionRage THANKS, DEAR :))**

 **morganna12 thank you! happy (uh, late) thanksgiving to you too!**

 **Kira494 oh, he'll be in soon ;) but hey! we've got a cute Durmstrang boy for now! HAHAH well, actually. HE'S A BIG-ISH PART OF THE NEXT CHAPTER, so stay tuned :)**

 **well, thanksgiving's over, which is horrid. but! christmas break in 3 weeks!**

 **hey, i might update a little earlier or not at all next week, as i'll be leaving for camp early on wednesday morning (which is when i usually update now). but i promise i'll try to get that chapter up if i can!**

 **as usual, i hope you enjoyed this chapter:))**

 **have a great day!**

 **catastropherika xo**


	18. Chapter 18

"Hermione—who are you going to the ball with?" said Ron.

He kept springing this question on her, hoping to startle her into a response by asking it when she least expected it. However, Hermione merely frowned and said, "I'm not telling you, you'll just make fun of me."

"You're joking, Weasley!" said Malfoy, behind them. "You're not telling me someone's asked that to the ball? Not the long-molared Mudblood?"

We whipped around, but Hermione said loudly, waving to somebody over Malfoy's shoulder, "Hello, Professor Moody!"

Malfoy went pale and jumped backward, looking wildly around for Moody, but he was still up at the staff table, finishing his stew.

"Twitchy little ferret, aren't you, Malfoy?" said Hermione scathingly. I glanced after him for a moment longer, before following my friends up the marble staircase. We hadn't exchanged a single word since our incident at the Astronomy Tower. I had to admit, things didn't feel normal without our constant banter, which was usually one of my bigger sources of entertainment.

"Hermione," said Ron, looking sideways at her, suddenly frowning, "your teeth..."

"What about them?" she said.

"Well, they're different...I've just noticed..." I rolled my eyes. Of course he only just noticed.

"Of course they are—did you expect me to keep those fangs Malfoy gave me?"

"No, I mean, they're different to how they were before he put that hex on you...they're all...straight and—and normal-sized."

Hermione suddenly smiled very mischievously.

"Well...when I went up to Madam Pomfrey to get them shrunk, she held up a mirror and told me to stop her when they were back to how they normally were," she said. "And I just...let her carry on a bit." She smiled even more widely. "Mum and Dad won't be too pleased. I've been trying to persuade them to let me shrink them for ages, but they wanted me to carry on with my braces. You know, they're dentists, they just don't think teeth and magic should—look! Pigwidgeon's back!"

Ron's tiny owl was twittering madly on the top of the icicle-laden banisters, a scroll of parchment tied to his leg. People passing him were pointing and laughing, and a group of third-year girls paused and said, "Oh, look at the weeny owl! Isn't he cute?"

"Stupid little feathery git!" Ron hissed, hurrying up the stairs and snatching up Pigwidgeon. "You bring letters to the addressee! You don't hang around showing off!"

Pigwidgeon hooted happily, his head protruding over Ron's fist. The third-year girls all looked very shocked.

"Clear off!" Ron snapped at them, waving the fist holding Pigwidgeon, who hooted more happily than ever as he soared through the air. "Here—take it, Harry," Ron added in an undertone as the third-year girls scuttled away looking scandalized. He pulled Sirius's reply off Pigwidgeon's leg. Harry pocketed it, and we hurried back to Gryffindor Tower to read it.

Everyone in the common room was much too busy in letting off more holiday steam to observe what anyone else was up to. We sat apart from everyone else by a dark window that was gradually filling up with snow, and Harry read out:

 _Dear Harry,_

 _Congratulations on getting past the Horntail. Whoever put your name in that goblet shouldn't be feeling too happy right now! I was going to suggest a Conjunctivitus Curse, as a dragon's eyes are its weakest point—_ "That's what Krum did!" Hermione whispered _—but your way was better, I'm impressed._

 _Don't get complacent, though. Harry. You've only done one task; whoever put you in for the tournament's got plenty more opportunity if they're trying to hurt you. Keep your eyes open —particularly when the person we discussed is around and concentrate on keeping yourself out of trouble._

 _Keep in touch, I still want to hear about anything unusual._

 _Sirius_

"He sounds exactly like Moody," said Harry quietly, tucking the letter away again inside his robes. "'Constant vigilance!' You'd think I walk around with my eyes shut, banging off the walls..."

"You practically do, everytime you walk around without your spectacles," I pointed out.

"But he's right, Harry," said Hermione, "you have still got two tasks to do. You really ought to have a look at that egg, you know, and start working out what it means..."

"Hermione, he's got ages!" snapped Ron. "Want a game of chess, Harry?"

"Yeah, okay," said Harry. Then, spotting the look on Hermione's face, he said, "Come on, how'm I supposed to concentrate with all this noise going on? I won't even be able to hear the egg over this lot."

"Oh I suppose not," she sighed, and she sat down to watch their chess match, which culminated in an exciting checkmate of Ron's, involving a couple of recklessly brave pawns and a very violent bishop.

...

"Wake up, Camille!" I groaned, flailing my arms in a useless attempt to knock Hermione off my bed. "It's Christmas!"

"Not for another five minutes, it isn't," I grumbled, burying my face back into my pillow.

"Come _on_ ," Hermione pulled my covers off. "We've got presents!" Now, that I couldn't resist. Grinning, I grabbed a parcel from the pile of gifts at the foot of my bed.

"Rainbow ink!" I gushed, holding up Hermione's present. "I love it, thanks!" I scrambled over to her bed to give her a hug.

Harry had gotten me a Broomstick Servicing Kit, and Ron, some liquorice wands and a jar of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans. Mrs. Weasley had sent Hermione and I the usual knitted sweaters. Mine was a pretty burgundy color this time, with a large "C" on the front. I put it on immediately.

Fred and George had given me several of Dr. Filibuster's Fabulous Wet-Start, No-Heat Fireworks and...a Smart-Answer Quill, apparently one of their own creations, supposed to only write smart-alecky answers to questions.

From my dear parents, was a delicate silver tiara. It was inlaid with small, deep-green emeralds—clearly, they were still under the illusion that I was their little Slytherin princess at heart—but at least it was beautiful. I put it away gingerly, afraid to damage it. I'd wear it to the ball that evening, I decided.

"Merlin's balls!" I exclaimed loudly in shock.

"What?" Hermione was by my side in an instant.

"Invisibility potion!" I held up Blaise's present, laughing. "I said he wouldn't be able to make it, but here it is! He actually did it!"

"Invisibility potion?" Hermione asked, eyeing the tiny bottle with interest. "I didn't think Zabini would be able to make such an advanced potion. He's hardly at the top of Potions class."

"Maybe he'd actually do better if he put as much effort into his work as he did his bets," I shrugged, putting it carefully back into its box, not wanting to break it before I could use it. "Oh, Merlin. This is too much," I muttered, holding up a Chudley Cannons jersey in delight.

"If I didn't know better, I'd say he fancies you," Hermione crossed her arms, giving me a knowing look.

"Ah, but you do know better," I replied, putting my presents away neatly. "We've just been good friends for a long time." Hermione raised her brows, but she didn't say anything more.

Just then, a scrap of paper tumbled from the wrappings of Blaise's present. I frowned and picked it up, wondering why I hadn't noticed it earlier.

 _Meet me at the Astronomy Tower before breakfast._

That was all it said. O-kay...that wasn't odd at all. Despite what I had just told Hermione, I couldn't help but wonder if Blaise did fancy me after all. I mean...the Astronomy Tower _was_ unofficially the couple's rendezvous place in Hogwarts. Was he going to declare his undying love for me? Oh dear. Blaise was a good friend, but I'd certainly never fancied him.

After meeting Harry and Ron in the common room, I waited until we were walking halfway to the Great Hall for breakfast, before excusing myself under the pretense of having forgotten something in the girls' dormitories.

"Hey, Blaise?" I called, already shivering in the chilly wintry air, when I reached the Astronomy Tower. "Why'd you want to meet here, of all places? It's so cold…"

Someone stepped out from the shadows. It wasn't Blaise.

"Malfoy?" I squinted. "What are you doing here?"

"The note in Zabini's gift to you was from me," he said quietly. I frowned.

"Wait, you helped him with the potion, then?"

"I did." Ah. Okay, at least _that_ made sense now.

"Okay…" I said warily. "Why did you want to meet me here?" His jaw was locked tight, and his eyes the color of steel looked...worried? Nah. Not possible.

"I wanted to apologize." I blinked. Whatever I had been expecting, it certainly wasn't that.

"What for?"

"For what I said that night. Right here. I'm sorry if I offended you—I know I did." It was costing Malfoy a lot of effort to say this, I could see. Malfoys never apologized. Yet, he was doing it right now.

"Why?" I questioned softly.

"Because," he exhaled, stepping closer, "as much as it pains me to say this, I miss bickering with you, exchanging insults and all. I dislike change, Selwyn, and things haven't exactly been the same since that night."

"Yeah, that never seemed to bother you back in first year, did it?" Malfoy had the grace to blush.

"I was just following my father's orders," he muttered.

"Of course," I scoffed. "You've always let him make your decisions."

"Look, Selwyn," he said, frustrated. "I'm sorry, alright? I meant what I said, I've never hated you, even during our first year. But when you started hanging around Potter and the others, I just didn't know what to think. I think I was even jealous."

"Oh," was all I could say. Right then, I was the one who didn't know what to think.

"Forgive me?" Malfoy's eyes held a pleading look. "For all these years I spent being a prat to you."

"Okay," I whispered. "We're friends again, then?"

"Of a sorts, I suppose," he looked relieved. "It doesn't change the fact that I still hate your friends."

"Obviously, that's too much to ask," I sighed, rolling my eyes. But my lips had turned up in a small smile. "I've missed you, Draco."

"I've missed you too, Camille," he pulled me into a warm embrace. I exhaled in content as I hugged him back. I had my old friend back.

...

I spent most of the morning in Gryffindor Tower with the rest of my House, where everyone was enjoying their presents, then returned to the Great Hall for a magnificent lunch, which included at least a hundred turkeys and Christmas puddings, and large piles of Cribbage's Wizarding Crackers.

We went out onto the grounds in the afternoon. The snow was untouched except for the deep channels made by the Durmstrang and Beauxbatons students on their way up to the castle. Hermione refused to join in our snowball fight, no matter how much I bugged her.

"Camille!" she called, at exactly five o'clock. "We have to get ready for the ball!"

"What, you need three hours?" said Ron, looking at us incredulously, and paying for his lapse in concentration when a large snowball, thrown by George, hit him hard on the side of the head. "Who're you going with?" he yelled after Hermione, but she just waved and pulled me along up the stone steps into the castle.

* * *

 **there we go, now Camille and Draco are friends (yay). uhh, remember though, them becoming friends isn't the highlight of this story ;)**

 **i feel like i could've written this better, but i'll edit it. soon. *coughs* totally soon.**

 **CHRISTMAS BREAK IS UP IN TWO WEEKS YEH.**

 **also, i'm leaving for camp early tomorrow morning, hence the earlier update this week.**

 **well. wish me luck in camp! and i hope you liked this chapter, because i did.**

 **catastropherika xo**


	19. Chapter 19

I released a pained yelp as Hermione dug another pin into my head. "Can't we just magic our hair to perfection? Like, transfigure it, maybe?" I growled.

"Yes, but it'll have to be a permanent transfiguration, and it wouldn't be steady even if I did it," Hermione sighed. "Okay, I'm done!" I frowned at her, before twisting around to look at my reflection in the mirror.

"Oh, I do look good," I turned my head slowly to watch the light sparkle off my tiara. "Thanks, Hermione." My hair now cascaded down my left shoulder in brunette curls, the tiara my parents had sent in the morning sitting snugly on top. Hermione beamed, proud of her work, before heading to our shared bathroom to change into her robes.

"Right, then," I stood, brushing my hands on the light material of my dress robes. "How is it?" They were floor-length, and varying shades of gorgeous grey. The straps were off-shoulder, and I tugged a little at them uncomfortably. _What if they fell off during a dance? How embarrassing._

"You look beautiful," Ginny nudged me gently. I flashed a smile at her.

"And you look marvelous." And she did, in robes of soft pastel colors. "Neville's lucky to have you as his date."

"Thanks," she blushed. "I just wish…" Ginny trailed off.

"That Harry had asked you first?" I finished, giving her a wry grin. "He should've."

"Maybe he doesn't even fancy me," she sighed wistfully.

"Then he's a daft prat, and you deserve someone better," I patted her shoulder comfortingly. There was a sudden rustle behind us.

"Oh, Merlin!" Ginny gasped. "Hermione, you look amazing!"

"What did you _do_ to your hair?" I was equally awed. Her usually bushy hair was sleek and shiny, and twisted up into an elegant knot at the back of her head. She was wearing robes made of a floaty, periwinkle-blue material. Hermione blushed.

"Do I look alright?"

"Alright?" I raised a brow. "You look more than alright! Krum's a lucky bloke to have you on his arm tonight."

"So is Nikolas," Hermione winked mischievously. "And Neville," she added, beaming at Ginny.

"Well, c'mon," Ginny grabbed our arms. "We're going to be late!"

"But it's worth it, because we look ravishing," I stopped to preen in the mirror again, before Ginny tugged me along.

The common room was nearly vacant by the time we got down. We hurried along, the best we could in heels, to the entrance hall. Leaving Ginny with Neville, Hermione and I hastened towards the Durmstrang students, peering anxiously for our dates.

"Camille!" Nikolas was striding eagerly towards me.

"Hey, Nikolas," I grinned, checking him out as discreetly as I could. His dress robes were the same as the rest of his schoolmates, a stiff red uniform with a fur-lined cape draped over the left shoulder. Sadly, his usually unruly hair had been slicked back neatly. It was nice, but I did prefer it messy.

"You look gorgeous," he leant down to kiss my cheek. I caught a whiff of some sort of manly cologne. Well, he smelt divine.

"Thanks," I blushed, taking his outstretched arm. "You don't look too bad yourself."

The oak front doors opened. An area of lawn right in front of the castle had been transformed into a sort of grotto full of fairy lights—meaning hundreds of actual living fairies were sitting in the rosebushes that had been conjured there, and fluttering over the statues of what seemed to be Father Christmas and his reindeer. I caught a gasp in my throat. Woah.

"Isn't this just _wonderful_ , Draco?" a familiar simpering voice carried over the crowd. I tilted my head, frowning. There was Draco, looking handsome in dress robes of black velvet, with Parkinson in extremely pink frilly robes clutching his arm tightly. Draco glanced up at me. His lips curled up into a smirk, before darkening slightly with into something unreadable as his gaze flicked to my date. _What was his problem?_

Then Professor McGonagall's voice called, "Champions over here, please!" I turned back to the front, grinning proudly as I watched Harry step forward with Parvati Patil—well, I didn't know the two were going together—and Hermione on Viktor Krum's arm.

Once everyone else was settled in the Hall, Professor McGonagall told the champions and their partners to get in line in pairs and to follow her. They did so, and I, along with everyone in the Great Hall, applauded as they entered and started walking up toward a large round table at the top of the Hall, where the judges were sitting.

The walls of the Hall had all been covered in sparkling silver frost, with hundreds of garlands of mistletoe and ivy crossing the starry black ceiling. The House tables had vanished. Instead, there were about a hundred smaller, lantern-lit ones, each seating about a dozen people.

After the most delectable dinner, as usual, Dumbledore stood, and we followed suit. With a wave of his wand, all the tables zoomed back along the walls leaving the floor clear, and then he conjured a raised platform into existence along the right wall. A set of drums, several guitars, a lute, a cello, and some bagpipes were set upon it.

The Weird Sisters now trooped up onto the stage to wildly enthusiastic applause. They were all extremely hairy and dressed in black robes that had been artfully ripped and torn. With another wave of Dumbledore's wand, the lanterns on the tables went out, and the champions stood with their partners.

They picked up their instruments, and Harry, who had been so interested in watching them that he had almost forgotten what was coming, suddenly realized that the lanterns on all the other tables had gone out, and that the other champions and their partners were standing up.

The Weird Sisters struck up a slow, mournful tune, one of their latest singles. I sniggered as I watched Harry tripping over his dress robes as he walked onto the brightly-lit dance floor, Parvati having seized his hands.

Nikolas touched the small of my back gently.

"May I have this dance?" With a startle, I realized many of the other students had gone onto the dance floor too.

"Sure," I grinned, taking his proffered hand. My heart was beating fast, and I suspected I had a blush on my cheeks as he held me close, twirling me around on the floor. I was almost relieved when the waltz ended. I liked dancing with Nikolas, but waltzes were so...intimate.

We continued for the next song, which was a faster number. I laughed as we cautiously maneuvered away from Fred and Angelina, who were dancing so exuberantly that people were backing away in fear of injury.

After a couple of dances, Nikolas and Krum offered to get drinks for Hermione and I—we had ended up dancing with them. Chattering in excitement, we headed to the table where Harry and Ron were sitting forlornly.

"Hi," said Harry. Ron didn't say anything.

"It's hot, isn't it?" said Hermione, fanning herself with her hand. "Nikolas and Viktor's just gone to get some drinks."

Ron gave her a withering look. "Viktor?" he said. "Hasn't he asked you to call him Vicky yet?"

Hermione looked at him in surprise. "What's up with you?" she said.

"If you don't know," said Ron scathingly, "I'm not going to tell you."

We stared at him, then at Harry, who shrugged.

"Ron, what—?"

"He's from Durmstrang!" spat Ron. "He's competing against Harry! Against Hogwarts! You —you're—" Ron was obviously casting around for words strong enough to describe Hermione's crime, "fraternizing with the enemy, that's what you're doing!"

"Woah, hang on there!" I protested, feeling indignant for my own date. Hermione's mouth fell open.

"Don't be so stupid!" she said after a moment. "The enemy! Honestly—who was the one who was all excited when they saw him arrive? Who was the one who wanted his autograph? Who's got a model of him up in their dormitory?"

Predictably, Ron chose to ignore this. "I s'pose he asked you to come with him while you were both in the library?"

"Yes, he did," said Hermione, the pink patches on her cheeks glowing more brightly. "So what?"

"What happened—trying to get him to join spew, were you?"

"No, I wasn't! If you really want to know, he—he said he'd been coming up to the library every day to try and talk to me, but he hadn't been able to pluck up the courage!"

Hermione said this very quickly, and blushed deep. She hadn't told me _that_. I would've been gushing right then about it, if Ron hadn't been behaving so beastly. He seemed to be vastly against Hermione's date, which could only mean that...was he _jealous_? I knew he fancied her!

"Yeah, well—that's his story," said Ron nastily.

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

"Obvious, isn't it? He's Karkaroff's student, isn't he? He knows who you hang around with...He's just trying to get closer to Harry—get inside information on him—or get near enough to jinx him—" Okay, that was going too far. Hermione looked as though Ron had slapped her.

"What's gotten your wand in a knot?" I glared at him in defense of my friend. "You've no reason at all to question Krum's motives for being _bloody friendly_!" When Hermione spoke, her voice quivered.

"For your information, he hasn't asked me one single thing about Harry, not one—" Ron changed tack at the speed of light.

"Then he's hoping you'll help him find out what his egg means! I suppose you've been putting your heads together during those cozy little library sessions—" I stared at him, appalled.

"I'd never help him work out that egg!" said Hermione, looking outraged. "Never. How could you say something like that—I want Harry to win the tournament. Harry knows that, don't you, Harry?"

"You've got a funny way of showing it," sneered Ron.

"This whole tournament's supposed to be about getting to know foreign wizards and making friends with them!" said Hermione hotly.

"No it isn't!" shouted Ron. "It's about winning!" People were starting to stare at us.

"Ron," said Harry quietly, "I haven't got a problem with Hermione coming with Krum—" But Ron ignored Harry too.

"Why don't you go and find Vicky, he'll be wondering where you are," said Ron.

"Don't call him Vicky!" Hermione jumped to her feet and stormed off across the dance floor, disappearing into the crowd.

"Nicely done, Ronald," I hissed. "Now you've gone and ruined her night!" Without waiting for a reply, I stalked off in annoyance after Hermione.

I swivelled around as someone grabbed my arm, thinking Ron had come to reason with me.

"What do you—oh, it's you."

"You sound disappointed," Draco raised a brow.

"I thought—oh, never mind," I rolled my eyes.

"Weasley being an idiot, as usual?" Taking my hands smoothly, he pulled me into a dance. I tensed up for a moment, glancing around furtively for my friends.

"Oh, come on," he retorted. "Not looking for your little Gryffindor trio, are you? You don't have to let them influence your decisions, you know." Cheeky bugger, he was repeating my own words back to me.

"Fine," I relented, biting my lip to stifle a grin. We danced in silence for a while, before I spoke out. "You heard what happened between Ron and Hermione, didn't you?"

"It was hard not to," he scoffed. "Weasley's a nosy sod, but...I have to say, he has a point. Why would Krum want with your little Mudblood friend?" I smacked his arm.

"You're really _rude_ , you know?" I scowled. "Where's Parkinson, anyway? I can't imagine she'd let you go easily."

"She's around," Draco waved his hand vaguely, grimacing.

"You're being comparatively nicer than you usually do," I said, suddenly suspicious. "You're never this...decent. I didn't think you meant you wanted to be all chummy with me when you said you wanted things to return to normal."

"Don't get used to it," he smirked. "It's your Christmas present."

"Wait. What is?" I raised a brow.

"This pleasure of getting to dance with me, obviously."

"Right," I snorted. "You definitely aren't an imposter. No one could imitate an ego as large as yours'."

"Draco!" a shrill voice called suddenly over the crowd. I released his hands.

"Go on," I nudged him, grinning in amusement. "You'd better return to Parkinson's side before she finds us and bites my head off. I don't feel like being Nearly-Headless Nick's ghostly counterpart just yet." He shut his eyes and sighed deeply.

Draco lifted my hand and kissed it, flashing a sly wink at me. "Merry christmas, Camille."

"Merry christmas," I murmured, watching him disappear in the crowd. _What in Merlin's name was that?_

"There you are, Camille!" Nikolas appeared, carrying two butterbeers. "Ve were vorried when we couldn't find you or...Herm-ee-one? That's her name, isn't it? Viktor went off to look for her." I smiled at him.

"I'm fine. I was just...looking for you," I smiled up at him.

We danced for a while more afterwards, but I couldn't help but realize the spark I thought I had with Nikolas had dimmed.

* * *

 **I'M SORRY I DIDN'T UPDATE LAST WEEK. i had SO MUCH backlog last week after i came back from camp, and APPARENTLY trying to balance both school (and backlogged homework) and post-camp drama isn't as easy as it sounds.**

 **literally my entire life just flipped this week and i'm honestly so tired right now, both physically and mentally.**

 **ah, well. i hope you liked this chapter!**

 **lala423. thanks, dear :))**

 **catastropherika xo**


	20. Chapter 20

Everybody got up late on Boxing Day. The Gryffindor common room was much quieter than it had been lately, many yawns punctuating the lazy conversations. Hermione's hair was bushy again.

Ron and Hermione seemed to have reached an unspoken agreement not to discuss their argument. Apparently, they had a blazing row last night in the common room. Hermione had told Ron off quite spectacularly, or so Ginny had said. I only wished I had been there to see it.

They were being quite friendly to each other, though oddly formal. Ron and Harry wasted no time in telling us about a conversation they had overheard between Madame Maxime and Hagrid the previous night about Hagrid being a half-giant. Hermione didn't seem to find the news that Hagrid was a half-giant quite shocking, though I did.

"I mean, yeah, he's big. But the thought never occurred to me," I admitted. "Giants _are_ usually considered a dangerous species, and Hagrid...well, he wouldn't hurt a fly."

"Well, I thought he must be," Hermione said, shrugging. "I knew he couldn't be pure giant because they're about twenty feet tall. But honestly, all this hysteria about giants. They can't all be horrible...it's the same sort of prejudice that people have toward werewolves...it's just bigotry, isn't it?"

Ron looked as though he would have liked to reply scathingly, but perhaps he didn't want another row, because he contented himself with shaking his head disbelievingly while Hermione wasn't looking. _Good for you, Ron_ , I thought amusedly. _You're finally learning not to piss her off._

Everyone was feeling rather flat now that Christmas was over. It was time now to think of our neglected homework.

When we arrived at Hagrid's cabin for the next Care of Magical Creatures lesson—feeling the slightest bit of dread for one of my favorite classes because of the freezing weather and the damned skrewts—we found an elderly witch with closely cropped gray hair and a very prominent chin standing before his front door.

"Hurry up, now, the bell rang five minutes ago," she barked as we struggled toward her through the snow.

"Who're you?" said Ron, staring at her. "Wheres Hagrid?"

"My name is Professor Grubbly-Plank," she said briskly. "I am your temporary Care of Magical Creatures teacher."

"Where's Hagrid?" Harry repeated loudly.

"He is indisposed," said Professor Grubbly-Plank shortly.

Soft and unpleasant laughter sounded behind us. Draco and the rest of the Slytherins were joining the class, looking gleeful. None of them looked surprised to see Professor Grubbly-Plank. I frowned in suspicion. What did they know that we didn't? And _why_ did they always seem to know things before anyone did?

"This way, please," said Professor Grubbly-Plank, and she strode off around the paddock where the Beauxbatons horses were shivering. We followed her, looking back over our shoulders at Hagrid's cabin. All the curtains were closed. Was Hagrid in there, alone and ill?

She led us past the paddock where the huge Beauxbatons horses were standing, huddled against the cold, and toward a tree on the edge of the forest, where a large and beautiful unicorn was tethered.

I joined the other girls as they cooed over the magnificent creature.

"Oh, it's so beautiful!" whispered Lavender Brown. "How did she get it? They're supposed to be really hard to catch!"

The unicorn was so brightly white it made the snow all around look gray. It was pawing the ground nervously with its golden hooves and throwing back its horned head.

"Boys keep back!" barked Professor Grubbly-Plank, throwing out an arm and catching Harry hard in the chest. "They prefer the woman's touch, unicorns. Girls to the front, and approach with care, come on, easy does it..."

I chuckled softly. Of course it did. I cast a wink at Seamus, who was next to me, before stepping forward. My gaze caught Draco's as I was turning to follow the other girls forward. He was glaring at us. I smirked and rolled my eyes. There he was, his usually unpleasant disposition fueled by his bias against the Gryffindors.

The unicorn nickered softly as we approached it cautiously. A contented sigh escaped my throat as I stroked the soft hair behind its ears. This certainly was more pleasant than caring for Blasted-Ended Skrewts.

"I hope she stays, that woman!" said Parvati when the lesson had ended and we were all heading back to the castle for lunch. "That's more what I thought Care of Magical Creatures would be like...proper creatures like unicorns, not monsters..." I would have agreed with her heartily, if my mind hadn't wandered, rather guiltily, back to Hagrid. He _was_ a good teacher, if a little misguided over the definition of "dangerous".

"What about Hagrid?" Harry said angrily as we went up the steps.

"What about him?" said Parvati in a hard voice. "He can still be gamekeeper, can't he?" I winced for Harry's sake. She had been rather cold towards him since he paid her little to no attention during the ball.

"That was a really good lesson," said Hermione as we entered the Great Hall. "I didn't know half the things Professor Grubbly-Plank told us about uni—"

"Look at this!" Harry snarled, and he shoved a Daily Prophet article at us. It was an article about Hagrid, as written by Rita Skeeter, a terrible and mostly untrue review of what he did teaching in Care of Magical Creatures. As if that wasn't enough, she had detailed Hagrid's half-giant heritage.

Our mouths fell open in horror as we read.

"The nerve of that dreadful woman!" I spluttered.

"How did that horrible Skeeter woman find out? You don't think Hagrid told her?" Hermione exclaimed, looking worried.

"No," said Harry, leading the way over to the Gryffindor table and throwing himself into a chair, furious. "He never even told us, did he? I reckon she was so mad he wouldn't give her loads of horrible stuff about me, she went ferreting around to get him back."

"Maybe she heard him telling Madame Maxime at the ball," said Hermione quietly.

"We'd have seen her in the garden!" said Ron. "Anyway, she's not supposed to come into school anymore, Hagrid said Dumbledore banned her..."

"Maybe she's got an Invisibility Cloak," said Harry, ladling chicken casserole onto his plate and splashing it everywhere in his anger. "Sort of thing she'd do, isn't it, hide in bushes listening to people?"

"Like you and Ron did, you mean," said Hermione.

"We weren't trying to hear him!" said Ron indignantly. "We didn't have any choice! The stupid prat, talking about his giantess mother where anyone could have heard him!"

"We've got to go and see him," said Harry. "This evening, after Divination. Tell him we want him back...you do want him back?" he shot at Hermione and I.

"I—well, I'm not going to pretend it didn't make a nice change, having a proper Care of Magical Creatures lesson for once—but I do want Hagrid back, of course, I do!" Hermione added hastily, quailing under Harry's furious stare.

"Obviously!" I said indignantly.

That evening after dinner, the four of us left the castle once more and went down through the frozen grounds to Hagrid's cabin. We knocked, and Fang's booming barks answered.

"Hagrid, it's us!" Harry shouted, pounding on the door. "Open up!"

Hagrid didn't answer. We could hear Fang scratching at the door, whining, but it didn't open. We hammered on it for ten more minutes; Ron even went and banged on one of the windows, but there was no response.

"What's he avoiding us for?" Hermione said when they had finally given up and were walking back to the school. "He surely doesn't think we'd care about him being half-giant?"

But it seemed that Hagrid did care. We didn't see a sign of him all week. He didn't appear at the staff table at mealtimes, we didn't see him going about his gamekeeper duties on the grounds, and Professor Grubbly-Plank continued to take the Care of Magical Creatures classes.

There was a Hogsmeade visit halfway through January.

We left the castle together on Saturday and set off through the cold, wet grounds toward the gates. As we passed the Durmstrang ship moored in the lake, I scanned the area for Nikolas, but only saw Viktor Krum emerge onto the deck, dressed in nothing but swimming trunks. He climbed up onto the side of the ship, stretched out his arms, and dived, right into the lake.

"He's mad!" said Harry, staring at Viktor's dark head as it bobbed out into the middle of the lake. "It must be freezing, it's January!"

"It's a lot colder where he comes from," said Hermione. "I suppose it feels quite warm to him."

"Yeah, but there's still the giant squid," said Ron. He didn't sound anxious—if anything, he sounded hopeful. Hermione noticed his tone of voice and frowned as I fought back an amused grin.

"He's really nice, you know," she said. "He's not at all like you'd think, coming from Durmstrang. He likes it much better here, he told me." Fortunately for him, Ron said nothing more.

The Three Broomsticks was as crowded as ever.

"Doesn't he ever go into the office?" Hermione whispered suddenly. "Look!"

She pointed into the mirror behind the bar, and I saw Ludo Bagman reflected there, sitting in a shadowy corner with a bunch of goblins. Bagman was talking very fast in a low voice to the goblins, all of whom had their arms crossed and were looking rather menacing.

It was indeed odd that Bagman was here at the Three Broomsticks on a weekend when there was no Triwizard event, and therefore no judging to be done. Just then, Bagman glanced over at the bar, saw us, and stood up.

"Harry!" he hurried through the pub toward us, or more specifically, Harry. "How are you? Been hoping to run into you! Everything going all right?"

"Fine, thanks," said Harry.

"Wonder if I could have a quick, private word, Harry?" said Bagman eagerly. "You couldn't give us a moment, you three, could you?"

"Er—okay," Ron said, frowning, and we went off to find a table. We eyed them discreetly over our butterbeer as Bagman led Harry along the bar to the other end.

"What did he want?" Ron questioned, the moment Harry rejoined us.

"He offered to help me with the golden egg," said Harry.

"He shouldn't be doing that!" exclaimed Hermione, looking very shocked. "He's one of the judges! And anyway, you've already worked it out—haven't you?"

"Er...nearly," Harry muttered. I narrowed my eyes suspiciously. He didn't sound very convinced.

"Well, I don't think Dumbledore would like it if he knew Bagman was trying to persuade you to cheat!" said Hermione, still looking deeply disapproving. "I hope he's trying to help Cedric as much!"

"He's not, I asked," said Harry.

"Who cares if Diggory's getting help?" grumbled Ron.

"It isn't very fair of him to favor you, though," I raised a brow.

"Uh-oh," said Ron suddenly, staring at the door.

Rita Skeeter had just entered. She was wearing banana-yellow robes today; her long nails were painted shocking pink, and she was accompanied by her paunchy photographer. She bought drinks, and she and the photographer made their way through the crowds to a table nearby. We glared at her as she approached. She was talking fast and looking very satisfied about something.

"...didn't seem very keen to talk to us, did he, Bozo? Now, why would that be, do you think? And what's he doing with a pack of goblins in tow anyway? Showing them the sights... . .. what nonsense...he was always a bad liar. Reckon something's up? Think we should do a bit of digging? 'Disgraced Ex-Head of Magical Games and Sports, Ludo Bagman...' Snappy start to a sentence, Bozo—we just need to find a story to fit it—"

"Trying to ruin someone else's life?" said Harry loudly.

A few people looked around. Rita Skeeter's eyes widened behind her jeweled spectacles as she saw who had spoken.

"Harry!" she said, beaming. "How lovely! Why don't you come and join—?"

"I wouldn't come near you with a ten-foot broomstick," said Harry furiously. "What did you do that to Hagrid for, eh?" Rita Skeeter raised her heavily penciled eyebrows.

"Our readers have a right to the truth, Harry. I am merely doing my—"

"Who cares if he's half-giant?" Harry shouted. "There's nothing wrong with him!" The whole pub had gone very quiet.

Rita Skeeters smile flickered very slightly, but she hitched it back almost at once. She snapped open her crocodile-skin handbag, pulled out her Quick-Quotes Quill, and said, "How about giving me an interview about the Hagrid you know, Harry? The man behind the muscles? Your unlikely friendship and the reasons behind it. Would you call him a father substitute?" Salazar's spit, this woman really was too much. Annoyance bubbled up inside me, but I reigned it in as far as I could. I didn't need to give her any information she could falsify in any of her horrible articles.

Hermione stood up very abruptly, her butterbeer clutched in her hand as though it were a grenade.

"You horrible woman," she said, through gritted teeth, "you don't care, do you, anything for a story, and anyone will do, won't they? Even Ludo Bagman—"

"Sit down, you silly little girl, and don't talk about things you don't understand," said Rita Skeeter coldly, her eyes hardening as they fell on Hermione. "I know things about Ludo Bagman that would make your hair curl...not that it needs it—" she added, eyeing Hermione's bushy hair.

"Let's go," said Hermione, gesturing to us. "C'mon."

"She'll be after you next, Hermione," said Ron in a low and worried voice as they walked quickly back up the street.

"Let her try!" said Hermione defiantly, shaking with rage. "I'll show her! Silly little girl, am I? Oh, I'll get her back for this. First Harry, then Hagrid..."

"Everyone knows she's a liar, yes," I hurried alongside Hermione. "But that doesn't stop people from reading her articles, and whatever she writes still has the power to affect people's reputations."

"Camille's right. You don't want to go upsetting Rita Skeeter," said Ron nervously. "I'm serious, Hermione, she'll dig up something on you—"

"My parents don't read the Daily Prophet. She can't scare me into hiding!" said Hermione, now striding along so fast that it was all we could do to keep up with her. "And Hagrid isn't hiding anymore! He should never have let that excuse for a human being upset him! Come on!"

Breaking into a run, she led us all the way back up the road, through the gates flanked by winged boars, and up through the grounds to Hagrid's cabin.

To say the least, Hagrid looked like a wreck. Fortunately, we—including Professor Dumbledore, whom we bumped into at Hagrid's cabin—managed to convince Hagrid that we still wanted him at Hogwarts. But we were still worried about him. Sure, Hagrid didn't make the _best_ teacher. Heck, Professor Grubby-Plank was better. But Hagrid had _heart_ , and I supposed that was the only thing that mattered.

* * *

 **hey, guys. i never thought i'd have to do this, and i really hate that i have to. i've always thought it was irresponsible of fic writers who just leave their unfinished stories on the internet without even telling their followers they won't or can't continue. so, here i am, just letting you all know i'm afraid i won't be able to continue writing this fic. at least, for a very long time. i might pick it up sometime in the future but honestly, i don't see a free enough period in my future when i can do so.**

 **i'm taking all AP courses this year, and i didn't think it would be this hard to manage. first semester was alright, but i feel like i'm just constantly drowning in assignments and all other commitments i have. also, i may be transferring schools next month, and who knew applications could be such a pain?**

 **words can't express the regret i feel right now. if anyone wants to continue my fic though, drop me a dm? it's best if you already have something published so i can see if our writing styles are compatible.**

 **thanks for staying with me these 20 chapters, guys. it means so much to me that i even had an audience here on .**

 **love y'all lots.**

 **catastropherika xo**


	21. Chapter 21

The next day, Harry told us what he had been up to the previous night. Apparently, not only did there seem to be something odd going on between Moody and Snape, but he had also figured out the egg's clue. So far, all we knew was that something he valued would be taken from him, and that he had to….go underwater?

We pored over numerous books in the library for days, but none of us could figure out how Harry could survive in water for an hour.

It was finally the day of the second task. I sat on my own at the spectators' stands now facing the lake, jiggling my leg nervously. Hermione's bed had been empty when I woke up, and I hadn't seen either her or Ron at breakfast. The stands were packed full, and the other champions were beside the judges' table. But Harry was late.

To my relief, Harry appeared, sprinting to the judges' table. I frowned slightly as Bagman moved closer to him and whispered something, which Harry nodded to.

"Well, all our champions are ready for the second task, which will start on my whistle," Bagman announced, straightening. "They have precisely an hour to recover what has been taken from them. On the count of three, then. One...two...three!"

The whistle echoed shrilly in the cold, still air, and the stands erupted with cheers and applause. Viktor Krum brandished his wand hastily around himself, then jumped into the lake. I caught a glance of a shark's head before he sank below the waves. Similarly, Cedric and Fleur moved their wands across their heads, then leapt in.

Harry, on the other hand, had stuffed something into his mouth and waded out into the lake. Waist-deep in the water, he stopped. I chewed on my lip in anxiety. The Slytherins were jeering now. What was going on?

Harry clutched at his throat, gagging. Without warning, he dived into the lake.

All was silent as we watched the surface of the lake. It had been an hour. None of them had returned. Suddenly, someone burst from the surface, holding onto another person. The stands erupted into cheers. It was Cedric, with Cho. A few minutes later, Viktor emerged with Hermione. Next, was Fleur. Except...she had returned with no one else. I grimaced at the numerous cuts on her skin and her torn robes. What _had_ happened down there? Nearly twenty minutes later, Harry broke the surface of the water, dragging two people with him. Ron and Fleur's hostage, I assumed. I released a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Bagman's voice boomed loudly. The stands went quiet. "We have reached our decision. Merchieftainess Murcus has told us exactly what happened at the bottom of the lake, and we have therefore decided to award marks out of fifty for each of the champions, as follows…"

"Fleur Delacour, though she demonstrated excellent use of the Bubble-Head Charm, was attacked by grindylows as she approached her goal, and failed to retrieve her hostage. We award her twenty-five points."

There was applause from the stands.

"Cedric Diggory, who also used the Bubble-Head Charm, was first to return with his hostage, though he returned one minute outside the time limit of an hour." The Hufflepuff section in the crowd cheered loudly. "We therefore award him forty-seven points."

"Viktor Krum used an incomplete form of Transfiguration, which was nevertheless effective, and was second to return with his hostage. We award him forty points." The Durmstrang boys roared in triumph. Nikolas caught my eye from their area of the stands, and winked. I stifled a smile, blushing lightly.

"Harry Potter used gillyweed to great effect," Bagman continued. "He returned last, and well outside the time limit of an hour. However, the Merchieftainess informs us that Mr. Potter was first to reach the hostages," I felt my heart swell in pride, "and that the delay in his return was due to his determination to return all hostages to safety, not merely his own." Oh, of course. That idiot would never take a break from being the hero.

"Most of the judges," and here, Bagman gave Karkaroff a very nasty look, "feel that this shows moral fiber and merits full marks. However...Mr. Potter's score is forty-five points." I clapped my hands wildly along with the rest of the crowd, grinning widely.

Thank Merlin that was over.

One of the best things about the aftermath of the second task was Ron's enthusiastic retelling of what had happened in the lake. At first, he gave what seemed to be the truth. At least it tallied with Hermione's story—Dumbledore had put all the hostages into a bewitched sleep in Professor McGonagall's office, first assuring them that they would be quite safe, and would awake when they were back above the water. One week later, however, Ron was telling a thrilling tale of kidnap in which he struggled single-handedly against fifty heavily armed merpeople who had to beat him into submission before tying him up. It was actually rather amusing.

"But I had my wand hidden up my sleeve," he assured Padma Patil, who seemed to be a lot keener on Ron now that he was getting so much attention and was making a point of talking to him every time they passed in the corridors. "I could've taken those mer-idiots any time I wanted."

"What were you going to do, snore at them?" said Hermione waspishly. People had been teasing her so much about being the thing that Viktor Krum would most miss that she was in a rather tetchy mood. Ron's ears went red, and thereafter, he reverted to the bewitched sleep version of events.

As we entered March the weather became drier, but cruel winds skinned our hands and faces every time we went out onto the grounds. There were delays in the post because the owls kept being blown off course. The brown owl that Harry had sent to Sirius with the dates of the Hogsmeade weekend turned up at breakfast on Friday morning with half its feathers sticking up the wrong way. Harry had no sooner torn off Sirius's reply than it took flight, clearly afraid it was going to be sent outside again. Sirius's letter was almost as short as the previous one.

 _Be at stile at end of road out of Hogsmeade (past Dervish and Banges) at two o'clock on Saturday afternoon. Bring as much food as you can._

"He hasn't come back to Hogsmeade?" said Ron incredulously.

"Obviously," I rolled my eyes, just as Hermione chorused, "It looks like it, doesn't it?"

"I can't believe him," said Harry tensely, "if he's caught..."

"Made it so far, though, hasn't he?" said Ron. "And it's not like the place is swarming with dementors anymore." I exhaled deeply, shaking my head. Sometimes, Ron could be really insensitive.

The final lesson of that afternoon was double Potions. Wonderful.

Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle were standing in a huddle outside the classroom door with Pansy Parkinson's gang of Slytherin girls. I was glad to see Blaise wasn't with them. All of them were looking at something we couldn't see and sniggering heartily. I sighed inwardly. What was it this time? Pansy's pug-like face peered excitedly around Goyle's broad back as we approached.

"There they are, there they are!" she giggled, and the knot of Slytherins broke apart.

She had a magazine in her hands—Witch Weekly. The moving picture on the front showed a curly-haired witch who was smiling toothily and pointing at a large sponge cake with her wand.

"You might find something to interest you in there, Granger!" Pansy said loudly, and she threw the magazine at Hermione, who caught it, looking startled. At that moment, the dungeon door opened, and Snape beckoned them all inside.

We headed for a table at the back of the dungeon as usual. Once Snape had turned his back on them to write up the ingredients of today's potion on the blackboard, Hermione hastily rifled through the magazine under the desk. At last, in the center pages, Hermione found what they were looking for. We leaned in closer.

A color photograph of Harry headed a short piece entitled:

 _Harry Potter's Secret Heartache A boy like no other, perhaps—yet a boy suffering all the usual pangs of adolescence, writes Rita Skeeter. Deprived of love since the tragic demise of his parents, fourteen-year-old Harry Potter thought he had found solace in his steady girlfriend at Hogwarts, Muggle-born Hermione Granger. Little did he know that he would shortly be suffering yet another emotional blow in a life already littered with personal loss._

 _Miss Granger, a plain but ambitious girl, seems to have a taste for famous wizards that Harry alone cannot satisfy. Since the arrival at Hogwarts of Viktor Krum, Bulgarian Seeker and hero of the last World Quidditch Cup, Miss Granger has been toying with both boys' affections. Krum, who is openly smitten with the devious Miss Granger, has already invited her to visit him in Bulgaria over the summer holidays, and insists that he has "never felt this way about any other girl." Come again?_

 _However, it might not be Miss Granger's doubtful natural charms that have captured these unfortunate boys' interest._

 _"She's really ugly," says Pansy Parkinson, a pretty and vivacious fourth-year student, "but she'd be well up to making a Love Potion, she's quite brainy. I think that's how she's doing it."_ Pretty, my arse. That stupid slag.

L _ove Potions are, of course, banned at Hogwarts, and no doubt Albus Dumbledore will want to investigate these claims. In the meantime, Harry Potter's well-wishers must hope that, next time, he bestows his heart on a worthier candidate._

"I told you!" Ron hissed at Hermione as she stared down at the article. "I told you not to annoy Rita Skeeter! She's made you out to be some sort of—of scarlet woman!"

"Holy Helga," I gagged. "That is one of the most ridiculous things I've ever read."

Hermione stopped looking astonished and snorted with laughter. "Scarlet woman?" she repeated, shaking with suppressed giggles as she looked around at Ron.

"It's what my mum calls them," Ron muttered, his ears going red.

"If that's the best Rita can do, she's losing her touch," said Hermione, still giggling, as she threw Witch Weekly onto the empty chair beside her. "What a pile of old rubbish."

She looked over at the Slytherins, gave them a sarcastic smile and a wave. Then we started unpacking the ingredients for our Wit-Sharpening Potion.

"There's something funny, though," said Hermione ten minutes later, holding her pestle suspended over a bowl of scarab beetles. "How could Rita Skeeter have known...?"

"Known what?" said Ron quickly.

"Have you been making Love Potions, then?" I questioned, appalled.

"Don't be stupid," Hermione snapped, starting to pound up her beetles again. "No, it's just...how did she know Viktor asked me to visit him over the summer?"

Hermione blushed scarlet as she said this and determinedly avoided Ron's eyes.

"What?" said Ron, dropping his pestle with a loud clunk.

"Ah," I smirked knowingly, turning back to my bowl of beetles.

"He asked me right after he'd pulled me out of the lake," Hermione muttered. "After he'd got rid of his shark's head. Madam Pomfrey gave us both blankets and then he sort of pulled me away from the judges so they wouldn't hear, and he said, if I wasn't doing anything over the summer, would I like to—"

"And what did you say?" said Ron, who had picked up his pestle and was grinding it on the desk, a good six inches from his bowl, because he was looking at Hermione. I turned away to hide a delighted grin at his obvious display of jealousy.

"And he did say he'd never felt the same way about anyone else," Hermione went on, blushing deeply, "but how could Rita Skeeter have heard him? She wasn't there...or was she? Maybe she has got an Invisibility Cloak; maybe she sneaked onto the grounds to watch the second task..."

"And what did you say?" Ron repeated, pounding his pestle down so hard that it dented the desk.

"Well, I was too busy seeing whether you and Harry were okay to—"

"Fascinating though your social life undoubtedly is, Miss Granger," said an icy voice right behind us, making us jump, "I must ask you not to discuss it in my class. Ten points from Gryffindor."

Snape had glided over to our desk while we were talking. The whole class was now looking around at us. Oh, rats.

"Ah...reading magazines under the table as well?" Snape added, snatching up the copy of Witch Weekly. "A further ten points from Gryffindor...oh, but of course..." Snape's black eyes glittered as they fell on Rita Skeeter's article. "Potter has to keep up with his press cuttings..."

The dungeon rang with the Slytherins' laughter, and an unpleasant smile curled Snape's thin mouth. To my dread, he began to read the article aloud.

"'Harry Potter's Secret Heartache...dear, dear. Potter, what's ailing you now? 'A boy like no other, perhaps...'"

Harry's face was flushed. Snape was pausing at the end of every sentence to allow the Slytherins a hearty laugh. The article sounded ten times worse when read by Snape. Even Hermione was blushing scarlet now.

"'...Harry Potter's well-wishers must hope that, next time, he bestows his heart upon a worthier candidate.' How very touching," sneered Snape, rolling up the magazine to continued gales of laughter from the Slytherins. "Well, I think I had better separate the four of you, so you can keep your minds on your potions rather than on your tangled love lives. Weasley, you stay here. Miss Granger, over there, beside Miss Parkinson. Miss Selwyn, next to Mr. Malfoy. Potter—that table in front of my desk. Move. Now."

Sighing in annoyance, I threw my ingredients and satchel into my cauldron, and carried it over to Draco's table.

"I hate you," I grumbled, setting my things down with a thump. "You stupid Slytherins just enjoy making our lives miserable, don't you?"

"She's only written about Potter and the Mu—" he cut off hastily as I glared at him, "—Granger. So far. At least she hasn't written about you and your...Durmstrang lover." He almost spat out the word. My eyes widened, then narrowed. I stomped on his foot.

"Merlin!" Draco said through gritted teeth. "What was that for?"

"He's not 'my lover', you prat," I hissed back, cheeks flaming.

"Well, you're awfully defensive about it," he shot back, sneering.

"Why would you care, anyway?" I rolled my eyes.

"I don't," he muttered quietly, turning away. "Whatever." I frowned, having expected another jibe. But Draco didn't say anything for the rest of the lesson.

...

We left the castle at noon the next day for Hogsmeade. The food Sirius had told them to bring was in Harry's bag. We had snuck a dozen chicken legs, a loaf of bread, and a flask of pumpkin juice from the lunch table.

We went into Gladrags Wizardwear to buy a present for Dobby in return for his assistance with the second task—apparently, he had given Harry the gillyweed (genius!) just before the task, where we had fun selecting the most lurid socks we could find, including a pair patterned with flashing gold and silver stars, and another that screamed loudly when they became too smelly.

Then, at half past one, we made their way up the High Street, past Dervish and Banges, and out toward the edge of the village.

We met up with Sirius, and he told us about Barty Crouch and his son, who had been associated with death eaters. I felt a wave of sympathy rush over me as I noticed how skinny and undernourished he was, still wearing the raggedy clothes he had when he had escaped from Azkaban.

Not for the first time, a myriad of confusion and guilt stabbed through me. With just a word, I could tell my parents everything and betray my friends. Everything they had worked to hide would fall apart in a second. After all, wasn't blood thicker than water? I shook the thought away in horror. How could I? My friends had been nothing but accepting to me, despite my family's reputation for being one of the mostly-bigoted pureblood families. I couldn't betray their trust. I wasn't a Slytherin, no matter what anyone said.

* * *

 **LOOK WHO'S BACKKKKK after a year hahah :) i dont know how many of y'all are actually still following this, but i decided to add on a new chapter for fun cuz it's CHRISTMAS BREAK.**

 **it's been a long year of adjusting to public school but it's cool. and i just really felt like writing. so here we are. enjoy!**

 **catastropherika xo**


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